green-ville - Tumblr blog

[green-ville]

Regrets

pt 4

TW: talk of a past suicide, with detail. also talk of a past character death with detail.

Synopsis: When Sirius Black came to her and asked her to watch over his godson, she didn’t think it would end up like this.

            A Triwizard Tournament. The strongest, bravest, most courageous. Three willing participants to take on challenges larger than life and only one would be the victor of eternal glory. People had died in this challenge. Only an idiot would put their name in it.

            When Sirina’s name is called, it was the last thing she expected.

            When Harry’s name was called, the fourth wizard in a tournament of three, she knew her Uncle Sirius was right.

            Someone was trying to kill him. And from the fact that she didn’t put her name in the Goblet of Fire, someone was clearly trying to kill her as well.

            Family meant everything to her. Sirina refused to let Harry Potter die, and she’d take every risk to keep him alive.

            Classes weren’t that bad. She knew no one in any of her classes and since she was always the first one there, she got preferential treatment. Aka, she picked her favorite seat. It was in the back corner of the room.

            The only class she foresaw issues with was Potions. Professor Snape, for a reason she could not figure out, hated her. He called on her frequently, as if trying to catch her off guard. She always paid attention in class. The boarding school she had gone to before Ilvermorny had seared that into her head. The issue was she didn’t have 84 years of experience in potions, and when asked about the history of eyes of Newt she was at a bit of a disadvantage.

            One particular lesson a few weeks in stuck out like a sore thumb.

            “Perhaps you will remember to pay attention, next time,” he drawled slowly. “Or at the very least, read the required material before showing up to class and wasting everyone’s time. Your father may have gotten by with a careless attitude, but rest assured, you will not.”

            The embarrassment that disabled her clashed into her boiling rage in a storm more violent than any hurricane, any tornado, any tsunami that had ever been, or ever will be. The glare that fixed itself onto her face could kill any grown man with a mere glance.

            Did he know her father? How could he say such horrible things about him if he knew Regulus? Or perhaps he was just another one of the crowds that said Regulus was a monster, Regulus was a Deatheater and deserved to fade from existence, forgotten by everyone.

            Siri bet that Snape had never even had a single fucking conversation with him.

            He would not ruin her image of Regulus no matter what he said. She knew her father better than anyone.

            When they finished their potions they could leave. The intense emotions made it harder to focus and Siri had trouble reading Snape’s handwriting. Even after copying it down in her notebook, written in a way that made it harder for her brain to screw up, she still took a long time.

            She was actually the last in the room.

            When she was finally done, flustered and on the verge of throwing something, she bottled it up and set it on one of the stands on Snape’s desk.

            He didn’t even look at her to remark, “Troll.”

            “Oh, now you’re calling me a Troll?” She exclaimed, about to lose it, halfway lost already. “You are one of the most unprofessional – “

            “No,” his lip curled with a snarl. “That’s your grade. Troll. It’s the lowest failing grade I can give you for not turning in what I very simply ordered. You have eyes and yet you can’t seem to read the clear instructions laid out on the board. Your father always did what he wanted too, without any care for anything. And look at where he is now.”

            Dead.

            Her father was dead.

            He had the nerve to insult a dead man right to the face of his daughter?

            Tears burned her dry eyes, and it happened. She lost it.

            She didn’t know how he found out that Regulus Black was her father when her Uncle had gone to such lengths to make sure she was only known as Sirina Argent. Headmaster Dumbledore said the secret would stay between them, but apparently he was just another liar. Her Uncle trusted him too much, it would seem.

            “You’re right,” Siri said with a sweet smile, eyes shinning with promise for a revenge so ruthless Satan would tell her to calm down. “The instructions were simple. I do have eyes. Forgive me, your majesty, for my insolence. Perhaps next week we can work on a potion to cure my Dyslexia because sometimes my brain switches letters around and your ‘simple instructions’ become an unsolvable clusterfuc-“

            “I did not ask for excuses,” he cut in cooly. “Though I should have expected them from you – “

            “Oh what,” she exclaimed, stepping back, “did my father give excuses for everything too?”

            He snarled a, “yes. And one day his past will catch up to him again and he’ll return to Azkaban just as he belongs. I’m sure there’ll be a cell waiting for you beside him as well since you’re so desperate to follow in his footsteps. Why don’t you start by 2 weeks of detention, 7 pm. Sirius would be very proud – “

            Siri did the most shocking thing yet.

            She slapped him clean across the face.

            Finally he was silent.

            Siri seethed quietly, more enraged than she had ever thought possible. “My father,” she began quietly, barely controlled. “Was Regulus Black, not Sirius. If you’re going to hate me, at least get that straight. And don’t bother trying to alert him of my behavior, he died 16 years ago. You could try my mother, but she’s dead as well. My Uncle, on the other hand, will be informed of exactly how you have treated me these past few weeks and you rest assured, Professor Snape, there will be consequences to your actions.”

             She stormed off, flicking her wand in the direction of her books, sending them straight into her hands. She snatched her backpack as it soared her way too, and then she stormed out of the room and into the crowd of the next class.

            In it, finally, a face she recognized.

            Harry blinked at her as she shoved her way through. “Siri! What’s wrong?” He called after her.

            “Everything’s absolutely alright! Snape, on the other hand, is on his period.”

            Siri seriously considered skipping Defense Against the Dark Arts. She was too emotional right now for it to be any good for her.

            But she had a perfect record. She had never missed a class period. She had to at least try. Or at least show up to get credit for the class.

            Professor Moody was unorthodox and borderline unethical. Today was a stations day and honestly, she never should have gone.

            Not with potions having happened. Not with her lack of sleep. Not with that damn Deatheater that she saw during the day now.

            It was a cumulative exam day. They were going to be faced with a number of different trails they had to overcome. All but one were easy. All but one she passed with flying colors. She had taken extra-curricular defense magic since she could do magic, of course she passed it all.

            And then the Boggart came.

            Siri wasn’t thinking, how could she? She was still flustered, fried, exhausted from potions.

            Inside the large wooden wardrobe, it rattled. Professor Moody stood off to the side, leaning against the wall.

            “Wand at the ready Argent. Wand at the ready.”

            Her quivering hand raised. That shake had persisted since the World Cup.

            “Steady now,” he warned, and opened the wardrobe.

            Black fog washed out of the wardrobe in heavy puffs. It covered the entire ten feet in front of her, and her wand shakily remained aimed forward.

            Even when the smoke dissipated, and she saw who was in front of her, even then it remained forward.

            A man she didn’t remember. A woman she couldn’t forget. His arm was around hers. He was barely taller than her, but he had eyes that were kind for a rare few.

            “You weren’t enough to keep me alive,” her father told her. The façade dropped as water gushed out of his mouth, and he held his throat, choking on water that kept gushing. Splattering on the floor in front of them.

            One of the many students behind her gasped loudly.

            “Argent,” Moody warned, gruff.

            Her father fell to his knees, choking. Face turning pink. . .red. . .blue. He collapsed to the ground as it became too much, body shaking as his body suffered from too little oxygen inside it. . .then none at all.

            Her mother barely looked at him as she stood on a chair, a rope coming down from the ceiling, noose already tied. It came into her awaiting hands. Her father stopped moving entirely, water soaking the floor. Her shoes.

            “Professor!” A student exclaimed.

            “You weren’t worth fighting for,” her mother said, fitting the noose snuggly on her head. “And one day soon you’ll give up like we did. No one to keep you going because no one will ever care about you.”

            “PROFESSOR!” The same student exclaimed.

            Her mother stepped off the chair just like she had done all those years ago. The rope pulled taught –

            “Ridiculous,” a soft whisper. The boggarts vanished in a swirl of black fog, sucking back into the wardrobe that Moody closed with a tap of his gnarled walking stick.

            The silence didn’t even register to her.

            She hadn’t seen that part of it. Her mother stepping off. She heard a chair clatter. Little Siri was curious. She went to find out.

            She found a body swinging from the ceiling, and she screamed.

            She didn’t see the first part though.

            And her father. She had never seen how he died. All she could confidently say was that he didn’t think he was going back, and the location he had told her of was near the cliffs of Moher.

            As she thought about it later on, when she was older, she assumed drowning. She had never confirmed it.

            “Argent. . .”

            Siri blinked, languid, and stared at Professor Moody.

            “Go to Madame Pomfrey.” She didn’t think it possible for him to speak in anything that resembled a gentle tone.

            Siri turned, ignoring the crowd of staring students, and left the room. This time she forgot her things entirely.

            She didn’t know who Madame Pomfrey was. Quite frankly she didn’t give a shit.

            Siri needed to write a letter and she was going to write one, so she went to the Owlery. She found some paper, pulled out a stupid freaking quill because apparently pens were archaic, and wrote her longest message ever. Her hands kept shaking, and honestly she couldn’t read her own words. They moved around and showed her words she hadn’t wrote, calling her idiot, dumb, failure in more ways than dialect had invented.

            She had to trust he’d be able to decipher it, because she was already sending the message away on a borrowed Owl.

            When she heard other people coming she slipped away quietly, unseen, and went to her hiding place. She normally only came here during the night when she couldn’t sleep. No Deatheater had ever bothered her on the roof tiles of Hogwarts. Coming during the day was different. The tiles were warm on her back.  The breeze that brushed past carried the scent of pine and fall weather, which had set in not long ago.

            It was peaceful.

            “Care if I join you?”

            If she had the energy, she’d have jolted from fear. She didn’t have the energy. Even turning her head was a chore.

            Cedric Diggory was not who she expected.

            She faced the sky again.

            “Alright, taking that as a tentative yes,” he said, carefully making his way towards her, balance perfect. He sat down slowly, and then fully committed to laying down right beside her, his left side against her right side.

            “I heard what happened.”

            She didn’t respond.

            “That’s a lot to happen all in a day.”

            What was he expecting from this conversation? A teary revelation?

            “Snape was out of line. Potter heard everything, relayed the message to me because he couldn’t find you. I had an idea on where you were though, and here you are.”

            Her brow raised. Her voice was raspy. “You knew I was here?”

            “Course. You always come here at night.”

            He knew?

            “I’m a Prefect. It’s my job to know when people are out of bed,” he admitted, and those butterflies in her stomach died. “When I first saw you I was terrified. Thought you were going to. . .but you didn’t. You just laid there. For hours. You don’t sleep a lot, do you?” He asked gently, staring at the cloudy sky with her.

            “I try.”

            “I don’t suppose it’ll help at all if I said I’m sorry for what happened?”

            “No.” She had heard enough “I’m sorry” the day of her mother’s funeral. She was sure she had heard them for her father’s funeral, but that she didn’t remember. No memories haunted her of her father, only the lack of them.

            “Then I guess I’ll just be here for you if you need to talk.”

            “And what if I never want to talk?” She asked, still raspy. “What if I want to pretend this never happened? That everything was normal again?”

            “Well, I don’t know how likely that is to happen. Word spread. . .I think the entire student body knows you’re Sirius’ Black niece by now.”

            Tears pooled again. “And Potter still tried to look for me?”

            “If I’m to be honest, he didn’t seem to care about that fact.”

            The tears slipped down, the silence settled and he didn’t leave. He stayed beside her as if he could actually content where he was. And perhaps it was her need to finally talk, perhaps it was because she hadn’t seen Mandy in forever and they hadn’t spoken since she left; perhaps it was because she was so freaking tired she couldn’t even think right now without her head throbbing so bad she wanted to vomit.

            It was likely multifactorial.

            She started to speak.

            “My father died when I was young. I don’t remember him,” she admitted with a sniffle. “He wrote me letters though. From before I was born to the day he never came back. So it feels like I knew him. He made a lot of bad choices. For a time he was a bad person. He made the right decisions in the end. . . and. . .and my mother tried to hold on. She did. It was too much. I found her after she took her life.”

            “Sirina. . .”

            “So I grew up and I had this code. I wouldn’t have any regrets. My father had regrets and to amend for them, he gave his life for the cause. And my mother died because she couldn’t live without him. So I wouldn’t have regrets. Even if I didn’t like what I was doing, I refused to regret my decision. . .Until that day.”

            “The World Cup,” he responded, knowing.

            She nodded as much as she could, tears slipping into her hair. “I saw those Deatheaters. . .I tried to stop them. . .and there was this spell. I had never heard of it before, never seen it before. . .I can’t stop thinking about it now.” She laughed humorlessly. “I remember it cutting me open. I was choking on my own blood. I thought I was going to die – I should have died. Someone saved me, they knew the reversal spell. I kinda wish they hadn’t because now I can’t sleep. And at first it was just I can’t sleep, but now the Deatheater haunts me during the day. I see him and it’s always the same thing over and over again. He uses that spell and I go down, choking, helpless. . .”

            “It won’t happen again,” Cedric stated, his own firm belief prominent in his tone.

            She laughed again. “You can’t be certain of that.”

            “If I’m always by you, yes I can. I’ll protect you.”

            “From a Deatheater?” She asked, disbelieving.

            He turned his head down to hers. As if drawn by an invisible pull, she looked up to him.

            “From anything,” he responded simply. “Anything and anyone.”

            “You can’t. . .” She couldn’t whisper anymore.

            “I will,” he answered again, just as simply. “Like now, I am going to protect you from a great long fall by asking that we go to a safer location to hide from people. Have you ever been to the Astronomy Tower? Just as high up, but with bars in the way.”

            Despite the shift in tone, he carried the same level of intimacy as before.

            “Don’t tell me you’re scared?” She asked, trying to joke.

            He shook his head. “Of course not, but I can’t chivalrously save you from falling to your death if I am also falling to my death.”

            She didn’t know how she would’ve responded to that, her stomach growled first.

            “I have food in my satchel,” he offered.

            “We’re not allowed to take food out of the Great Hall, mister Prefect” she said, brow piqued.

            “I didn’t,” he grinned, winking. “Took it out of the kitchen directly. Fifth year’s area always stressed and forget to eat. I’ve found it best to keep some snacks on hand at all times to prevent hunger deprived studying.”

            His care for others was the reason she allowed him to help her up. Why he decided to keep hold of her hand was beyond her. When they got up though, she stopped right away.

            Cedric glanced to her. “It’s that way,” he pointed.

            “I’m hallucinating a pirate ship now.”

            “What?. . .Nope. . .I see it too. . .”

            “So we’re both hallucinating a pirate ship?”

            “It must be the hunger. We should go eat something.”

            They left the roof but both kept looking in the direction of the Pirate ship that docked in the Black Lake. Neither knew that if they had kept searching the grounds on the rooftop, they’d also find a French Mansion newly added to the landscape.

            Instead they sat in the Astronomy Tower right beside the railing. They leaned against the metal bars, on opposite side of the opening from each other, feet intermittently intertwined. Cedric’s foot, her foot, Cedric’s foot, her foot.

            He knocked her foot again with another question.

            “I could help you in potions. . .if you need.”

            “I. . .Everything circulated, didn’t it?”

            “A bit. It would be covert. No one would know about it. Just you and me.”

            She took a bite of the brownie. She liked that idea.

            “I have trouble reading sometimes,” all the time, but whatever. “I uh, I have Dyslexia. The letters kinda get screwy. Normally I can figure it out, but under pressure it’s harder.”

            That alone was hard to admit.

            “I’ll do my best to help. . .” He drifted off, both of them picking up on the sounds of leather shoes on stairs.

            This belonged to nicer shoes than what they wore.

            And it belonged to a man better dressed than them too.

            Siri couldn’t help her surprise, the emotion showing on her face as clear as day.

            “You came?” She asked, not expecting that. She thought maybe a letter to Dumbledore, but this?

            Her Uncle, Mr. Argent, entered the Astronomy Tower. He found her immediately, and sighed in relief.

            “Sirina, first things first,” he was professional and orderly even now. “Are you alright?”

            “Better now,” she admitted, standing up. “I. . .I didn’t mean to pull you away, I’m sorry, I was upset – “

            “And you had every right to be,” he cut in. “I plan to talk to Dumbledore immediately. I’m supposed to be in a meeting with him now but when he said you had skipped the rest of your classes for the day, I had to find you. You never skip classes, I knew it was serious.”

            She didn’t have anymore tears inside her. What she did have? The energy to surge forward and throw her arms around him, squeezing him as tight as she could. He didn’t hesitate this time to hug her back.

            And for the first time ever, she knew what it was like to have a father.

            The meeting with Dumbledore, Professor Sprout (Head of House), Madame Pomfrey, Snape, and Moody was eventful.

            Snape was reprimanded, not only had to provide a verbal apology but agree to corrective action, and he was put on warning that if anything of the sort ever happened again, he’d be terminated on the spot. Her Uncle helped with that last bit. Being close co-workers with the Minister of Magic had its benefits.

            Professor Moody, seeing as it was his first offense, had to provide his course syllabus for intense review. He had to apologize for not intervening when the situation clearly became inappropriate for sixth year expectations.

            The conversation with Madame Pomfrey was private, just Siri and her. She told the Healer of her nightmares, of her difficulty sleeping. Madame Pomfrey was going to be providing her sleeping potions for a dreamless night, and Siri had to schedule a meeting with her twice a week for chatting.

            Apparently she needed ‘therapy’. It was either that or detention for swearing and accusing a male professor of having a period in front of younger students.

            “So,” Professor Dumbledore said, hands folded on his desk. “Do we have a deal, Mr. Argent? All your requests will be met, and in exchange you will abstain from legal action?”

            “You’ll never hear from me again, as long as I don’t get another letter like the one I received,” he assured. “If I do, then I will return and without the opportunity for you to keep your Professors in check.”

            Professor Dumbledore smiled. “I’m glad we’re in agreement. May I see you out?”

            “If you so choose.”

            They made their way out, heading down the spiral staircase controlled by a bronze Gryffin with its wings spread wide. That seemed like he was picking favorites.

            She didn’t expect to see Cedric waiting just outside it, and she stopped, brows raised.

            “Cedric?”

            “Hey! Oh. . .Headmaster,” he nodded, “Sir,” he nodded to her Uncle.

            “Cedric,” her Uncle repeated, “Amos’ boy?”

            “Yes sir. Pleasure to meet you,” he held out his hand.

            Her Uncle shook it, gaze calculating. “I trust you can show her back to her dorms?”

            “I’d be happy to sir.”

            “Good.” He nodded, then turned to Sirina, giving her a kiss on the forehead that had her blinking. “Write me if anything else comes up. I’ll see you tomorrow for lunch.”

            “See you then. . .” She stopped herself from saying ‘love you’, and instead finished with, “thanks for everything.”

            “Of course. Be good.”

            He walked off with Professor Dumbledore, chatting with him privately.

            “You didn’t have to wait – “

            “That was never in question. I had to see how you were doing.”

            Damnit, why was he so nice?

            She sagged, running a hand through her wavey black hair. “Better, actually. A lot better. Had a bit of a mental breakdown earlier. . .apparently talking through things helps?”

            Cedric laughed as he walked beside her. “I could’ve told you that. You can talk with me anytime, I’ll be happy to listen.”

            “Obviously the same to you. Anytime you need to rant or shout, I’m there, got it?”

            He smiled down at her. “Sounds like a plan Siri. How about we don’t study potions tonight and take it easy instead? I figured out why that pirate ship was in the Lake.”

            “We’re being attacked?”

            “Even worse,” he said, tsking, “the Triwizard Tournament.”

            That was the last thing she really heard from him. It acted as a trigger word, yanking her right back to the conversation she had with Sirius.

            Triwizard Tournament.

            Something happens to Harry every year.

            Protect him.

            And she had been so overwhelmed these past weeks that she had completely forgot.

            “They put an age restriction on it though,” Cedric explained. “Only 17 and up.”

            Thank God. He was 14, he was nowhere near close to being able to do it.

            “I was thinking of putting my name in it.”

            She stopped, chest tightening. “What? But – but no, that’s dangerous. C’mon.”

            He turned to face her, smiling again like her fear made him happy. “They’ve got more protection this time Siri. And there’s no way of knowing if I’ll actually get in. Loads of people are putting their names in. . .I’d regret it if I didn’t actually try.”

            That word. Damn that word.

            She understood because she was the same way, and she refused to be a hypocrite.

            Piercing her lips, she reached for his hand, holding it tightly. “If you get in, I’m ordering you to be careful, alright? No stupid heroics. You be careful.”

            “You worried about me Black?” He grinned, stormy gaze twinkling.

            “I’m always worried about you Diggory,” she huffed out. “You saw me and thought I’d make a good friend. Clearly there are a few wires loose up there.”

            “How could I not want to be your friend? You’re one of the most loyal and compassionate people I’ve ever met. Anyone would be lucky to be your friend.”

            She hugged him before she knew what she was doing. He smelled like outside and she loved the outdoors, so she hugged him tighter, eyes shutting.

            “If you get in, you’re going to be careful. Whatever happens I’ll do my best to help, okay? You need to practice spells, I will figure out the best spells. You need to practice potions, I’ll grab the ingredients if you point to them cause I can’t fucking read,” he chuckled as he hugged her back, cheek on her head. “But you have to be careful, okay?”

            “It’s a deal Siri. I help you with potions, and if my name is called, you help me with the Tournament.”

[green-ville]

Regrets

pt 3

Synopsis: When Sirius Black came to her and asked her to watch over his godson, she didn’t think it would end up like this.

            A Triwizard Tournament. The strongest, bravest, most courageous. Three willing participants to take on challenges larger than life and only one would be the victor of eternal glory. People had died in this challenge. Only an idiot would put their name in it.

            When Sirina’s name is called, it was the last thing she expected.

            When Harry’s name was called, the fourth wizard in a tournament of three, she knew her Uncle Sirius was right.

            Someone was trying to kill him. And from the fact that she didn’t put her name in the Goblet of Fire, someone was clearly trying to kill her as well.

            Family meant everything to her. Sirina refused to let Harry Potter die, and she’d take every risk to keep him alive.

            She found Mandy with a tracking spell. They returned to the portkey quietly, both of them having seen things they didn’t want to talk about.

            That night Siri took a shower, watching the water wash away red and brown.

            She counted 8 slashes on her body, healed to the point they were scabbed but with light dabbing of her towel, some reopened. She bandaged them up as best as she could, looking like a zombie hiding in a mummies wrap.

            She slept for 13 hours and awoke midday to two letters. Both from Uncles.

            She thought she knew what was coming from both of them. She was wrong.

            Sirius said he changed his mind. He no longer wanted her to go to Hogwarts. He had heard about what happened and said he never should’ve asked her.

            She sent him a response right away, saying she was going whether he now wanted her to or not, and that was final.

            Her other Uncle invited her to dinner. He was coming into the city for business in the next few days and wanted to catch up. He also asked if she was alright.

            She agreed to dinner, saying she was fine, just surprised.

            Dinner went fine for the most part. It was stiff, political almost. All the answers were short, not providing any real information. They never delved too personal until dessert had finished.

            “I’m worried about you.”

            She blinked, setting her water down. “Why?”

            “I didn’t care for you how I should have. When your mother passed I should have treated you as one of my own, but I treated you as separate. I am going to try to be more involved in your life.”

            What?

            Don’t be rude. What do you even say to that?

            “And. . .How do you want to. . .what do you want to. . .”

            “Well uh,” he did not just say ‘uh’. He was as uncomfortable as she was right now. “I was thinking dinner once a month to start. And, perhaps, we increase the frequency of letters?”

            “We don’t really write each other.”

            “Precisely. I will start, I would like you to respond.”

            “. . .Okay.”

            He nodded. “Okay. . .It was nice seeing you Sirina.”

            “I’m going to Hogwarts.”

            She didn’t know why on earth she said it. It really just popped out and then she was continuing because she had caught him off guard. “I uh, I transferred. For this year. I know it’s sudden, unexpected. I’ve been thinking about it for some time. . .”

            “Do you not like Ilvermorny?”

            “I don’t think it likes me. I tried to make friends, I thought joining the stupid Quidditch team would help. . .no one talks to me.”

            He nodded, hands folded on the table. He considered what she was saying, then responded. “I think this is a good decision, I only ask one thing.”

            “What?”

            “Take the Argent name.”

            She contained her own surprise. He wanted her to go by Argent? She had always been Sirina Black. Why. . .

            “You think they’ll treat me differently because of it.”

            “I want you to have a real opportunity to make friends, Sirina. I have concern that being tied to that name right now limits your ability. If they get to know you first, and then you tell them, that is one thing. They’ll know who you are and know you’re a good person. But if you say you’re Sirius Black’s niece, that’s all you’ll be to them. The relative of a mass murderer. I don’t want you to be ostracized for something you had no way of controlling.”

            And it made sense, which was the issue.

            She had to get close to Potter, and that meant not telling him the truth. She may have known the truth about Sirius, but he didn’t. She’d look insane telling him she talked to the ‘mass murderer’ and it was ‘all an unfortunate misunderstanding’.

            She nodded. “I agree.”

            “I hope you make friends at Hogwarts. I remember my days. I hope you have just as many good memories.”

            It had been tough with Mandy. Siri thought they’d be talking by now. It wasn’t until the day she was leaving that the truth came out.

            Her arms were crossed, she was looking at Siri with more emotions than she could process. Anger, hurt, upset, fear. . .

            “I can’t believe you’re going.”

            “You knew about this?” Siri questioned, wondering where the change of heart came from.

            “That was before the Quidditch game! You could’ve died Siri! I saw the marks on you, they may be scarred over now but that doesn’t change the fact that you almost died! The one on your neck would’ve been enough but I know you have more that you’re hiding!” It was true. She had been wearing more modest clothing just because of that. “It’s not safe.”

            “It’s not safe for Potter either.”

            “He’s not your responsibility.”

            “I was asked to watch over him, that’s it – “

            “But you didn’t just watch over him! You went and you played hero!” She snatched up a newspaper from the living room table and held it out for her to see. “You made the headlines, which I’m sure you didn’t know because you don’t read the newspaper. Someone got a photo of you attacking those Deatheaters. They don’t have a name for your face, but I know it’s you.”

            Siri needed to start reading the newspaper.

            “And what if that happens again? What if there’s another attack? Will you get involved?” She demanded, grip tightening on the newspaper. Siri didn’t respond, and she demanded again, “Will you Sirina?”

            “It’s likely.”

            “It’s not likely it’s a yes!”

            “I’m sorry.”

            “No you’re not!” She exclaimed. “You never cared about yourself anyway! You don’t think you deserve happiness so you never fight for it. You’re so ready to die that sometimes I think you’re gonna walk straight into traffic!”

            “I would never – “

            “Wouldn’t you?” Mandy asked, face flushed as she huffed. “Wouldn’t you? Then tell me you don’t blame yourself for your mom. Tell me – “

            “The Deatheaters that attacked, do you remember them?”

            “Hard to forget!”

            “My dad was one of them.”

            And that quieted her raging anger.

            Siri continued. “All the letters I have from him? They’re filled with regrets. He regretted becoming one. He regretted the house he was in. He regretted not following Sirius. He regretted not being his own person and just listening to the shit his parents told him. He regretted everything he ever did, until the day he died trying to take down the man that those Deatheaters you saw worked for. And if he didn’t have those regrets, maybe he’d still be alive. Maybe my mom wouldn’t have killed herself. Or maybe she would’ve but at least someone else would’ve found her before me.” She shrugged, rolling her watery eyes. “I don’t know Mandy. But I can’t not do this. You think I’m being suicidal, I think I’m trying to avoid following in my parents footsteps. He knew it was a one way trip when he left. She wanted a one way trip. So I’m sorry for upsetting you, but I don’t regret this decision.”

            She grabbed the portkey just as Mandy stepped forward, proclaiming, “Wait!”

            It was too late. The cry was lost as the world spun, flowery wallpaper and hard wood floors disappearing from sight. She landed in a park in London, no one in sight as far as she could tell.

            Carrying her trunk wasn’t the most fun in the world. Or at all. She wanted to levitate it the entire way but with all the no-maj’s around it was impossible. So she carried it, getting in her arm workout for the day as she made her way to the train station. Sirius had left her a note on her ticket saying she had to run through the wall of 9 and 10, so when she got there she assessed the situation, stuck her hand through the wall to confirm she wouldn’t smack into it, then ran.

            She didn’t crash which was good.

            The bad news?

            The train wasn’t there.

            She stared at the empty track, panic rising. This wasn’t fun because she was already having a bad day by getting into an argument with Mandy. But she also missed the train? How could she have possibly. . .

            She checked Sirius’s note again.

            She reread the part where he told her to get there at 5. She had to take her time doing this, the words attempting to screw with her, but she refused to let it win again.

            He meant 5 US time, not UK time. He told her when to leave the states, not when to arrive at the train station. She was 6 hours early.

            Shit.

            The train station arrived at 8. She was the first one on. Aggressively she got her trunk into a train cart, levitating it up to the racks above the comfy looking seats. When she sat down she confirmed they were not comfy. They did the job of providing her with enough space though, and once she laid down? Siri was out like a light.

            Truth be told she hadn’t been sleeping well since that Quidditch match. She could make it about six days on three hours a night and then that seventh day hit and. . .she became disoriented to person, place, time, and situation.

            Today was a seventh day. The last week had been especially difficult because she was nervous about school, so really it was no surprise she passed out so quickly.

            And when people started to arrive on the train, she remained asleep. And when people came into her cart, the others full, and sat around her, she remained asleep. And even when the train took off down the track and there was a consistent noise of metal rolling on metal and a controlling whistle that shoved through the plains. Even then she remained asleep.

            It wasn’t until she was shaken awake by a light hand that she finally roused.

            “Black. . .Black, is that you?”

            She jolted, entire body clenching up and she had her wand out and pointed at her attacker in a split second. 

            It wasn’t until she processed who it was that her racing heart tightened. She knew those green eyes.

            “Potter?”

            “Black,” he greeted right back, raising his hands in surrender. “We’re here. . .why are you here?”

            “What?” What fucking year was it?

            “We’ve arrived.”

            “Where?”

            “Hogwarts? Did you get on the wrong train? Don’t you live in the states?”

            “What day is it?” She sat upright, right side of her face warm from how she had been sleeping. She was sure there were marks on her cheek as well. “Oh my God I’m so tired – “ she cut herself off with a yawn, eyes shutting as she stretched.

            “Er, Thursday?”

            “What?”

            “You asked what day it is. . .are you okay?”

            “Yeah, yeah fine. Sorry. Tired. Haven’t been. . .sleeping well. . .holy shit are we. . .?”

            He cracked a smile. “Yeah. Welcome to Hogwarts. It looks like we’ll be going with the first years because we missed all the other transports.”

            She blinked, staring out at the dark sky. “Potter,” she whispered, “I’m going to be honest with you, okay?”

            “Sure?”

            “I think I got on the wrong train.”

            She got some caffeine in her and remembered that no, she had not got on the wrong train. She was supposed to be here. Harry, she had progressed to Harry, thought this was hilarious. She did not.

            The first years took boats to Hogwarts. This wasn’t terrible. She liked the abyss of water beneath them and how it reflected the warm light of the magnificent castle. It was probably the most unforgettable sight she’d ever witness.

            “So why did you transfer?”

            “Transfer what?”

            Harry blinked. “Schools?”

            “Oh! I’m sorry, I’m not used to people talking to me. Well,” she didn’t even process that she just royally embarrassed herself, continuing on like nothing had happened. “Uh, for funsies. Wanted something different. Heard Hogwarts was an okay school.”

            “So. . .So you transferred schools for funsies?”

            “Yeah, why not. Sometimes Harry, you have a midlife crisis. This can make you do stupid things. Never listen to your internal thoughts, they never lead to anything good.”

            He grinned, green eyes bright despite the sun deprived sky. “Hermione says I should think more.”

            “It’s overrated. I never think and look at where I am. I somehow got myself onto a train without having any recollection of this morning’s events.”

            He laughed and she laughed back, feeling lighter than she had in a while.

            “I hope you get into Gryffindor, you could totally try out for our Quidditch team and get a spot. I know it.”

            She grinned. “So if I don’t get into Gryffindor you’ll stop talking to me?”

            “No! I just. . .I don’t see how you couldn’t get into Gryffindor. You’re one of the bravest people I know.”

            She chortled, flattered and embarrassed. “We’ve known each other for like, 15 hours tops.”

            “You saved my life.”

            “I did no such thing.”

            “You found me, Black. . .I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t. And I saw that newspaper of the night. You’re on it. I know that’s you. . .What happened?”

            She swallowed, breaking eye contact. She stared at the dark water that lapped at the underbelly of the self-driving canoe they were in. Her entire personality started to shut down, the change noticeable to even a blind man. And Harry wore glasses, he had no excuse to be blind.

            “If it’s too much. . .you don’t have to tell me.”

            “It’s hard to talk about. I’m sure you know the feeling.”

            “I think I can relate,” he responded softly, cracking a weak smile. “Voldemort has tried to kill me more times than I’ve gone on dates. It’s a little sad.”

            Her lips wavered into a smile. Harry started to laugh, and her head bowed, shoulders shaking.

            “Lord Voldemort wants me more than girls my age. It’s a total confidence booster.”

            Her head went back, her hand covered her mouth, and Siri laughed loudly, tears in her eyes. Her stomach cramped and her knees pushed together with the sudden need to pee, the situation he just turned into a joke the funniest thing she had heard in a while.

            By the time they arrived, all previous sad thoughts were vanished from sight. They walked up the castle together, joking their hearts away and leaning against each other when their legs grew weak with shakes.

            “Every freaking time! I can’t seem to get it right!”

            “Don’t add an entire box of pasta to a medium sized pot! Especially angel hair! How could you not know that?!”

            “The box doesn’t come with pan size instructions! And it never looks like much dry!”

            “So what, after you realized the medium sized pan wasn’t good enough, did you put it into the appropriate sized pot?”

            “Of course not,” she scoffed, “that’s ridiculous. The bottom half was already cooked, so I flipped the uncooked half into another medium sized -pot-pffft – pot and – and I cooked that half of the pasta.” The laughs were taking over again. Tears were in her eyes as she held her cramping stomach.

            “But then I was so tired after it that I didn’t even eat! I just went to bed and woke to a mess in the morning.”

            Harry’s smile was riddled with charming dimples as they climbed up a series of stairs inside the castle, trailing the group of nervous first years. “That’s brilliant. Absolutely brilliant Black.”

            “You uh. . .you can call me Siri if you want. If you like Black more, that’s fine, just thought – “

            “Siri’s nice. It’s a good name for you.”

            “It’s technically Sirina, but only my mom ever called me that.” She realized her mistake after it was out.

            Past tense.

            He noticed it and nodded. “Siri it is. Hey, good luck in there, okay? Even if you don’t get Gryffindor, we’re still friends, right? You’ll always have a seat beside me.”

            “Thanks Harry,” she smiled. “And thanks for waking me up before. I don’t know how long I would’ve slept for.”

            “Anytime.”

            He rushed off down the hall as a professor congregated the first years and herself in front of a staircase. She wore a witchy green velvet hat to match her robes. She must be the Slytherin head of house, then.

            “Good evening, I am Professor McGonagall, deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts and head of Gryffindor house.”

            Siri was wrong. What else was new?

            That was also the last thing she heard. On top of being dyslexic? ADHD. She didn’t have it nearly as bad as others, but at times like this it became obvious. What other child would look at the architecture of a castle and want to go into a 3 week long deep dive fixation over how it was built, what secrets lay beneath, and what bodies were likely buried in the foundation?

            “Ms. Argent. . .did you hear me?”

            Why wasn’t Ms. Argent responding? Rude. Siri turned to look at the first years, curious as to what was happening and refocusing, only to see everyone was looking at her.

            Shit. She was Argent. She was going by Argent.

            “Oh shit – shiitake mushrooms, will they be served? I haven’t ate anything since breakfast but that was U.S. time because I forgot about time zone changes and so then I got to the train station early and then I had to wait you see. I know I probably could’ve grabbed a bite to eat at the station if I had just walked around in all that free time I had from bad planning but I was paranoid the train was going to come when I was gone, everyone was going to show up, I’d be lost finding my way back, and then it would leaving before I ever even knew it was there. That would be really bad, wouldn’t it? So I had to stay there you see, and then the train came and I got on it and then I was really tired. Haven’t been sleeping well. Maybe it’s my mattress? What type of mattresses do you have here? I didn’t have to bring my own, did I? I didn’t see that on the requirements of – “

            “Ms. Argent!” Professor McGonagall exclaimed. “What – I. . .What?”

            “I have no idea. Sorry, sometimes I get like that. I have ADHD, I kinda get distracted easily. I was looking at that hallway down there,” she pointed, “and then I started thinking about the architecture of Hogwarts. Beautiful architecture, by the way. The states take a more neo-gothic aesthetic for their colleges because, of course, we’re not as old as other countries. Still stunning but it doesn’t quite have the rich history that these types of castles do – “

            “Ms. Argent.”

            She blinked inquisitively, smiling.

            “I think I know exactly where you’ll go without even bothering the hat,” the Professor claimed dryly. “You’ll be first, seeing as you’re a transfer. Now, follow me.” She pivoted with a sweep of her cape and led the group onward.

            One first year tugged at her cloak, smiling up at her. “I have ADHD too.”

            “Fucking rad man – “ child. Child. CHILD! “I mean that’s sick.”

            He laughed at her. “You’re so getting detention.”

            “Little snitch.”

            They headed into the Great Hall which was pretty great, it definitely lived up to the name. Calling it a cafeteria might’ve been a disservice.

            Everyone stared at them like they were fresh meat, which in a sense they were. The first years at least. They hadn’t been alive long, they were fresher than the rusty dried out 17-year-olds like Siri.

            She took it all in, and by that she meant she fixated on the smallest of things.

            The stained-glass windows were stunning. She wanted to know what they looked like when the setting sun was casting its warm rays through it. She bet it was beautiful, she could imagine it now.

            Should she take up painting? Sure, she had tried that once before and gave up after one incident, but what if she tried again?

            Her cloak was tugged. She looked down at the ADHD kid from before.

            “What’s up?”

            “Professor McGonagall called your name.”

            Siri looked up. Professor McGonagall indeed was staring at her, holding an unnecessarily fancy scroll in one hand, a lice filled hat in the other. She looked very unimpressed.

            Siri liked to set the bar high.

            “I’m starting to think I forgot to take my meds this morning,” Siri mumbled, then realized that yes, she definitely forgot to take her meds this morning because she always took them at 9 o clock but then she was at the train station at the wrong time and completely forgot about her meds and then she was on the train and then it was night.

            She got up to the Professor and apologized, taking a seat on the uncomfortable stool. The hat was almost set on her head when she shifted, trying to get comfortable. Professor McGonagall lifted it, as if she couldn’t figure out what Siri was doing. “Sorry, this is terrible. I don’t know how to sit.”

            “I think you’ll find it won’t take long,” Professor McGonagall said dryly, plopping the hat down and covering Siri’s eyes.

            The voice that sounded in her head caught her off guard.

            “Sirina Black eh? I haven’t had a Black in years.”

            “I hope the bar hasn’t been set too high.”

            The hat chuckled like an asshole, as if it was the exact opposite. “Oh, there’s a bar alright. But is it the right one for you?”

            “Why wouldn’t it be?”

            “Because it would lead you to Slytherin. Are you Slytherin material? Cunning, yes. You’re a clever little witch behind that humorous mask you wear. Oh, but bravery comes to you naturally as well. Running to go find Potter like that, abandoning your mission when you saw those Deatheaters attacking? And without a second thought. . .Incredibly loyal too. . .helping that Uncle of yours even though you’ve never met him. Too trusting, perhaps.”

            “My father trusted him. I didn’t make the wrong decision.”

            “I didn’t say you did.”

            “You have a demeaning tone I don’t appreciate. You may be able to get inside my mind but that doesn’t mean you know everything. Sirius is a good man, and if my father trusted him then he deserves my trust too.”

            “Loyal to a fault,” the hat hummed. “Not ambitious, or resourceful. . .even if cunning. . .and knowledgeable yes, incredibly intelligent, and yet you lack wisdom.”

            She scoffed and crossed her arms over her chest. “Flattery will get you nowhere,” she responded sarcastically. “If I could put you in a house it would be Ravenclaw, maybe someone there would be smart enough to teach you manners.”

            The hat barked a loud laugh, the sound echoing in the halls. “Oh yes, I know just where to put you. HUFFLEPUFF!”

            “Scream in my ear, please. First insult me, then scream in my ear. I’ll make an apron out of you yet,” she promised as Professor McGonagall removed the hat from her head.

            Cheers had erupted the second the house was called, an entire table of students rising up with thunderous applause and screams.

            It made Siri want to go in the exact opposite direction.

            Until she heard her name being called. As she walked to the table, she saw who it was and smiled wide, waving back to Harry who had stood up from his own table and cheered her on just as loudly. At his lead, others she recognized stood too. The Weasleys! Fred and George were here, hollering madly.

            “What’re you doing here Black?!”

            “Thought you lived in the states!” The other finished.

            “I got lost! Faking it till I make it!”

            “Bloody brilliant!”

            Siri laughed at them, relaxing as she sat down on the long table. She received several pats on the back and warm welcomes, but the warmest one she got was the surprise of who sat down next to her, having left his previous spot.

            “Siri, what’re you doing here?!” Cedric asked her, pulling her into a hug.

            She faltered, hesitating to hug him back, getting a whiff of cologne and melting a little. He pulled away too quickly, stormy gaze captivating.

            “I uh, I got lost.” The world quieted down as the next student was called. “Ended up in London, figured I’d stop by Hogwarts and see what’s so great about it.”

            He gave her a look, personality unfairly radiating. “If you wanted to see me again you could’ve just asked. I never got to say goodbye after the World Cup. I was worried about you.”

            Her cheeks went warm and she let out an awkward laugh. She pulled at her collar, which was buttoned up high to hide the scar that now danced across her neck. “Well uh, sorry about that. Things got a bit chaotic. Mandy and I got split up and I had to find her. Then we left as soon as possible.”

            “I’m glad you’re okay. . .I was worried about you. I looked at the newspapers for any information about casualties. . .I never saw your name but that front picture. . .the girl looked exactly like you. . .exactly.”

            “It was a blurry picture.”

            “Are you okay Siri?”

            Her jaw tightened up, and water lined her eyes. If there was anything she hated most in the world it was that damn question. The second that question was asked she caved, and she couldn’t do that right now.

            So she answered him softly, delicately. “I don’t want to talk about it. Please, just, just tell me about your summer. Pretend it never even happened.”

            And Cedric, whose face dropped with more concern and worry at the realization, put on a mask so real it reflected the one she wore everyday. It was deceitful enough to belong in Slytherin, and she worked to forget about the sour dip in conversation as he did exactly as asked, and distracted her.         

            Sleeping so much on the train kinda screwed her over. She got changed for bed, she sprayed lavender on the pillow to create an environment conducive to sleep. She stayed awake.

            Siri didn’t last long (4 hours) before she lost it. She got up, tied her robe tight around her waist, and snatched her skateboard. She slipped out of her shared room, passed through the tunnels that lead to the common room, and exited out of the painting that lead to their dorms.

            From there it was a quick silencing charm on her skateboard, and then she was moving.

            Her wavy hair fanned back at her breeze and she kicked off for more speed. She drifted off into a space of non-existence. She was physically present but entirely checked out. Her body moved as it pleased, taking her all around the first floor. She found it was easy to get lost in this place. Everything looked the same while being slightly different. Sure the pictures were all unique, but there were so many pictures the second she saw a new one, she wondered if she saw it three hallways ago. Then she questioned if she was going in a circle.

            A cool breeze filtered in and brought a chill down her spine, but she didn’t process it. She just kept going, trying to keep herself busy for the long night ahead.

            She wasn’t expecting to see the Deatheater.

  ��         Siri fell off her skateboard, not even registering it as it rolled off into a wall, crashing silently. Her butt and hands hurt but that pain was dull compared to the sharp shock of the man in black with the silver mask covering his face.

            Her lips parted; eyes wide.

            The man drew his wand back and snapped it down with a cry. “Sectumsempra!”

            Her skin tore apart, and her quivering hand raised, pouring out blood as she pressed it into her bloody neck. Feeling the severed skin beneath. The crimson tide drenched her nightgown, her robe. . .

            She choked on her blood and awoke with a silent panic.

            Siri shot up in bed, sweating, too hot and constricted by the blankets lightly on her. She kicked them off as she scurried out of bed and rushed to the bathroom, running ice cold water and scrubbing her face to eradicate her need for sleep. Looking in the mirror, face dripping with water, she saw how kind the sleepless nights had been to her.

            Deep purple and red bags under her eyes, a faint stain on her eyelids. The whites of her eyes didn’t even have the energy to remain white. Her skin seemed pale, her hair lifeless.

            It was 3 in the morning. Her allotted amount of sleep for the night had been maxed out.

            Siri got ready for the day and found a way to busy herself.

[green-ville]

Regrets

pt 2

            Synopsis: When Sirius Black came to her and asked her to watch over his godson, she didn’t think it would end up like this.

            A Triwizard Tournament. The strongest, bravest, most courageous. Three willing participants to take on challenges larger than life and only one would be the victor of eternal glory. People had died in this challenge. Only an idiot would put their name in it.

            When Sirina’s name is called, it was the last thing she expected.

            When Harry’s name was called, the fourth wizard in a tournament of three, she knew her Uncle Sirius was right.

            Someone was trying to kill him. And from the fact that she didn’t put her name in the Goblet of Fire, someone was clearly trying to kill her as well.

            Family meant everything to her. Sirina refused to let Harry Potter die, and she’d take every risk to keep him alive.

In three days’ time, her first letter came. It was 10:20 pm and she was looking to go to sleep but excitement at getting a letter woke her all the way up. And then the contents of the letter? She never would’ve been able to fall asleep.

            Two tickets dropped as she opened it. When she read them, her eyes widened.

            “MANDY!” Siri screamed, leaving her room, throwing open Mandy’s door, and attacking her on her bed. Mandy shouted, thrown awake at her intrusion. Siri gripped her shoulders, euphoria at toxic levels. “WE’RE GOING TO THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP!”

            “IS THAT LIKE THE SUPERBOWL?!”

            “FUCK YEAH IT IS!”

            And then Mandy was ecstatic with her.

            The issue? It was the next day. AKA, today London time.

            The solution? Partaking in activities that some might consider outside of the bounds of legality.

            But the sooner they got there the sooner they could pregame, and the easier it would be to show Mandy everything.

            “Okay! Get dressed, I’ll work on getting us there – remember, we need to be forgettable. If they find out you’re a no-maj –“

            “I’ll say I’m a squid.”

            “Perfect. Get ready!”

            “Then get off of me!”

            Siri rushed out again, now in a frenzy as she got herself dressed, did her makeup, did her hair in braids, and then picked the object she would be using to travel there.

            She chose a lamp she had been meaning to get rid of. She didn’t like it and didn’t care if it broke. Now, portkeys were a tricky thing and easy to mess up. Messing up meant making a mess of your body. And for clarifications sake, that meant you’d be in several different continents all at once, and the only vacation that would entail is a vacation from breathing.

            So Siri took her time, using what she learned in reading about them and finally testing it out.

            When she was done, Mandy was excitedly leaving the bathroom, all ready for a day of fun.

            “Is that it?”

            Siri grinned. “Hopefully.”

            “Is this one of those dangerous things I shouldn’t ask questions about so I don’t get scared?”

            “You know me so well.”

            “I’m so excited! My first time seeing a match! Oh I can’t wait.”

            “Okay, so in one minute,” she checked her pocket watch. “We grab onto the lamp. It’ll feel really weird. Don’t let go, you will die painfully. Let go when I say to, and then try to start walking, okay?”

            Mandy had paled at the death part. “Oh God.”

            “It’ll be fine – 5, 4 – “

            “I’m scared – “

            “2 – 1 - grab it!”

            They both snatched it at the same time, and then the world was spinning. The ground was swept out beneath her and her living room blurred away.

            “Oh my God!!”

            “Isn’t it fun?!” Siri screamed at her, feeling the thrill just like she was in a Quidditch game.

            “I’m gonna be sick!”

            “HOLD IT!”

            “I’M NEVER TRUSTING YOU AGAIN!”

            “LET GO!”

            “YOU GOTTA BE SHITTIN- AHHH!”

            Siri let go, Mandy following right after. Even though she had the knowledge on how to land more comfortably, it was still disorienting. The world going from a thousand miles per hour to slowing down like she had just sped run a hangover. She tried to walk, then started laughing as she watched Mandy slam into the grassy ground. The groan and wince was immediate and Siri laughed as she set down in a squat, still rough on the landing but a lot gentler than Mandy.

            “Dude, I told you to walk.”

            “You tell me a lot of things. Mandy, you’re gonna have fun. Mandy, trust me, I’d never cause you harm. Mandy, I want what’s best for you. There’s a rock in my back, Siri. I feel like I just got Narcan.”

            “Stop your whining – “

            Thud!

            “Bloody hell.”

             She turned as she helped Mandy up, eyes landing on six teens that just crash landed five feet away.

            “Bet that cleared your sinuses, eh?” An older man said as he walked down the open air, a completely controlled decent as he joined the teens. There was another older man that matched the gingers of the group.

            “They sound British,” Mandy whispered.

            “Your observational skills are unparalleled. . .oh he’s cute.”

            Another teen, but older than the ones that had been on the ground. Wavy light brown hair, a dimpled grin as he helped up one of the boys. . .

            “Is that Harry Potter?” Mandy asked, eyes wide.

            Siri blinked. “How did you know that?”

            “I read all your newspapers like they’re the Bible. It’s so interesting.”

            “Well stop looking, that’s suspicious. C’mon, we’ll take my broom and check things out first, get the lay of the land.”

            She swung her leg over the broom, prepared for Mandy to follow. Mandy didn’t.

            She giggled, waving to one of the ginger boys. A taller one that winked right back.

            “Mandy!” Flirting already? They had been here for two minutes!

            “I’m sorry,” she giggled again, cheeks rosy. She turned away, smiling from ear to ear as she followed suit and got on the broom, hands on Siri’s waist. “And you thought the other one was cute, can’t blame me for not being a coward and acting.”

            “Oh, I’m the coward?” She twisted her head back, grin wicked. “Hold tight Mandy. Try not to scream this time.”

            “Oh don’t Siri – AHHH!”

            Mandy screamed as they took off, leaving the ground and entering the air low enough to be considered dangerous. They soared right above tents and vendors, swerved narrowly to avoid other dangerous flyers, and dove between the tents when there was a large enough opening. Mandy tightened up, scared about touching the ground and eating dirt if they fell. Siri brushed her fingers across the ground as they zipped right back up, fingers stained green.

            “You’re having too much fun!”

            “I’ve been flying since I was 5, trust me!”

            “I do trust you, you like to show off!”

            That was true. Siri did like attention. She had gotten injured from that.

            They flew across the entire field, assessing the goodies and what to hit up first. This was Mandy’s fourth time in the wizarding world, but her first time getting to see a game. They had to accomplish a lot.

            So they started with caffeine. It was close to midnight in U.S. time, but the start of the day here. They were going to be pulling an all nightery.

            They found coffee stands. It was Irish Coffee so it was spiked. It provided them with energy and a buzz that was only enhanced by the exciting and loud environment.

            They went shopping next of course. Mandy loved shopping and Siri liked having someone that picked out clothes for her. Siri stayed in the clothes she had worn for the day (crop tank top, skirt), but Mandy switched into clothes supporting Bulgaria. The red color scheme fit her better than green. It would’ve clashed with her red hair and made her look like a pimento olive.

            They got their faces painted and then they found a vendor with beer. Naturally they partook.

            At midday they finally had to sit down to eat something. They shared four appetizers, wanting to try it all. It was as they were eating at a picnic table that they were joined, two of the teenagers from before having the courage to sit beside them.

            They were identical twins with an identical air of mischief.

            “Enjoying the day ladies?”

            Mandy’s cheeks reddened. She nodded, “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

            “Don’t watch Quidditch much?”

            “No, but I’m considering starting.”

            “It’s loads of fun, even better to play it,” the other twin said. “We’re beaters at Hogwarts. Pretty dangerous, but we’ve managed to keep our good looks.”

            Siri grinned, one brow raising. “You’re very brave for that. I’ve watched a lot of Quidditch. I can’t even imagine how scared you must be going out there.”

            Mandy gave her a discrete look. Siri barely contained her smile.

            “Scared? Never. The thrill makes it all the worthwhile. What’d’you say to a game later? All friendly, just a bit of fun?”

            Mandy shook her head immediately. “Oh no, I can’t do heights. I nearly passed out with Siri before.”

            Siri considered backing down, but maybe this would get her an opening with Potter. “Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt anyone by messing up.”

            One of the twins put his arm around her. “Don’t you worry luv, we’ll teach you everything you need to know.”

            They scheduled the game for 3 pm, which allowed them to see the sites more. They parted so the Weasley twins could go and collect more for the game.

            They shopped more, they drank even more, and by the time 3 came around, they were heading towards the agreed upon spot.

            “Are you sure? This could go badly,” Mandy said, antisly playing with her shirt.

            Siri, four beers and one Irish Coffee in, had no fear. “It’ll be chill. I’ll take it easy on them.”

            “Are you sure Harry will even – “

            “Hey Black!”

            Siri turned to her name and found the Weasley twins headed her way, a group of players right behind them. “You ready for this?” George? called, grinning from ear to ear.

            “As ready as I’ll ever be. I sure do hope no one gets hurt.”

            Mandy snorted. “Laying it on thicker than a snicker.”

            “We’ll keep the game clean,” Fred? promised, nudging her with his arm.

            “So you’ve never played before?” The cute brunet from before asked, tone gentle, stormy eyes captivating.

            “Well, I have, but nothing quite like this,” she carefully alluded the truth so she could have the benefit of saying ‘I didn’t lie’.

            “You can be on my team then,” he offered, smiling warmly, making her heart flutter. “I’m the seeker, I’ll stick by you as much as I can to make sure you’re good.”

            A frog had miraculously lodged itself in her throat. Her face warmed and she looked away, shocked by the sudden wash of intense feelings. “Oh wow, okay.”

            Mandy grabbed her hand, dragging her up ahead as they got closer to the goal posts. “Dude, he’s a tall glass of water.”

            “I think I need one,” she said, fanning her face. “I have fallen off my broom before, but never because of a cute player.”

            “Hey Black! We’re going over the rules!” Fred? called, waving her over.

            She jogged over, joining the group and leaning her broom against her hip so she could tie her hair back. Her crop top raised higher and three people glanced in that direction. She pretended to not notice it.

            George went over the rules and the teams were split. Against the Weasley twins wishes, Siri ended up with Cedric.

            “It’s only fair, if three girls were on one team there would be no chance for you guys,” Siri joked, winking at the ginger sister, Ginny? and an Angelina?

            Angelina grinned. “I like you. May the best girl win,” she encouraged, reaching out her hand. Siri took it, feeling like she had just made her first friend since meeting Mandy. “The best of luck,” Siri returned, shaking her hand, meaning it. She shook Ginny’s hand too, wishing her good luck.

            They split up to talk strategy.

            Siri leaned on her broom; hip cocked as Cedric took charge. The sight was incredibly distracting.

            “The Weasley twins are notoriously difficult, we’ll need to be cautious,” he explained, “Felix, you’re keeper, Axel and Rick, I know you’re chasers but I’ll need one of you to be beater- “

            “I can do it.”

            Cedric paused, everyone turning to look at her.

            “I played softball since I was a kid. I think I can manage.”

            “That’s. . .” Cedric hesitated. “That’s a hard position, I don’t want you to get hurt.”

            “Can I try it and if it doesn’t go well, we can switch?”

            Cedric still hesitated.

            “I promise I’ll be careful.”

            “We’ll watch out for her too,” Axel offered. “You know we’re rubbish at being beaters anyway. Let her try and if we need, we switch.”

            “One of you always has to be near her, got it?” Cedric ordered. “She gets hit and you’re off the team.”

            Siri didn’t know if she felt protected or babied, or both.

            She made her point clear though when the game began and the balls were released.

            Oh she feigned ignorance at first, too scared to make an aggressive move. Then Fred, the other teams beater, tried to knock Cedric off his broom with a hard hit.

            He did a stationary 360, broom not wavering as he spun like a cycle in the washer. The ball would’ve missed him completely, but then Siri appeared and swung at the ball so hard it hit the opposites team keeper, Oliver Wood. He puffed out a breath, sent through the goal, and that opened the opportunity for Axel to zip forward and score them their first point.

            “YEAH!” Siri shouted, shoving her bat into the air. “That’s what I’m talking about, keep it up!”

            Cedric blinked at her, right beside her. “You said you’ve never played before?”

            “I never said that.”

            “But you – “

            “Eyes on the prize Diggory, Potter better not win.”

            She shot off, chasing after Axel who was about to get whacked with the bludger. “AXEL DUCK!”

            He ducked and she was right there to whack it away again. This time she aimed for Fred, who had hit it in his direction. He evaded, mischievous air suffocating.

            “George, I think she lied to us!”

            “No, I don’t lie!” She assured, sticking beside Felix, protecting him as they went towards the goals together. “You just didn’t ask the right questions! Slow down!” She hissed to Rick, who glanced to her, and trusted her.

            Siri zipped forward, heading straight for Oliver. He blinked, caught off guard by her tactic, and exclaimed “woah!” as he moved out of the way just before she crashed into him. She swerved so she didn’t hit the goal and Felix fired with a clear shot, scoring them the next point.

            “LET’S GO!” Axel cheered, high fiving Rick. “NICE GOING BLACK!”

            “Where did you find her?” Oliver called, scowling at Fred.

            “She said – “

            “She tricked us!” George exclaimed, elated at the realization.

            “You’re both daft! Get on her!” Oliver ordered.

            Siri grinned, cackling madly.

            The game was, perhaps, the most fun she’s ever had playing Quidditch. Of course she loved playing at school, with high stakes, with high adrenaline, with so much energy coursing through the field it was palpable. But this? Playing with people she met that day? People that were willingly talking to her?

            People that she felt actually liked her?

            Siri had never had so much fun.

            And it didn’t matter that they lost. They carried the points for the entire came, scoring more and more and then –

            “Harry’s got it!”

            Siri’s attention was stolen. She spotted Potter a distance away with his fist raised in the air. He was grinning proudly, and Cedric stopped the chase just beside him, slowly clapping for him.

            Potter spotted her, and his eyes widened. “DUC – “

            “SIRI!”

            She tried to duck. The bludger ducked with her and nailed her right in the side of her ribs. She was shoved right off her broom and then gravity took hold as she descended.

            On the bright side, this time she didn’t crash into the ground. She was actually caught before, which was good because the pain was immediate and if she had crashed landed too, she would’ve been knocked out cold.

            Potter had a fast broom, the second last model from the looks of it. He had grabbed her hand and managed to yank her behind him.

            They landed and she braced her ribs, going to the ground for stability.

            “You good Black?”

            “Thriving Potter,” she winced. “Nice game, you’re a good seeker.”

            He kneeled in front of her, looking at her side. “It’s bruising. . .it may be broken.”

            “Yeah I concur.”

            The other players and watchers rushed towards them, Mandy sliding right beside her with a wild gaze.

            “Siri, you good? Why didn’t you duck?!”

            “I did duck,” she winced, “It followed.”

            “Now I know why coach always yells at you,” Mandy sighed, peaking beneath her crop top. “It’s broken. Nothing you can do but deep breaths, ice, and pain relievers.”

            “The bone can be mended,” Cedric corrected. “We just need a healer.”

            Mandy quieted, her nurse mode dying as she remembered, yes, magic existed.

            “I’ll take you to one. My dad and I are right beside one, it’s not that far away,” Cedric offered.

            Siri glanced to Mandy. Mandy shook her head. “I’ll be right here, go get that fixed. You don’t take care of yourself already, the last thing you need is to get a pneumonia.”

            Siri scowled. “I manage just fine.”

            “Look at your ribs hon.”

            Mandy stood, offering her hand. “C’mon now, before the game starts! We should’ve left to grab our seats twenty minutes ago anyway!”

            Siri allowed herself to be pulled up, wincing again from her ribs. “It doesn’t start for an hour anyway,” she said, reaching for her discarded broom.

            “I think maybe I should fly you,” Cedric offered, coming between her and the broom. “Just in case.”

            Just in case.

            “I’m fine, really – “

            “I agree,” Mandy encouraged, pushing Siri forward. “She might fall and exacerbate the issue. Good thinking Cedric.”

            Cedric smiled at her. Siri scowled, thinking of a dozen and a half curses.

            And yet she got on his broom behind him, avoiding making any contact with him to avoid any further comments.

            “You ready?”

            “Yep.”

            “Hold on tight.”

            She had no intention of holding onto him. He sped forward and she nearly fell off despite being braced for the speed. Holding onto him was unintentional, but she could’ve sworn he chuckled after she grabbed him.

            The healer was, thankfully, still in her tent. She saw the injury, said it would be a minute, and retired deep into her tent to collect the item she needed.

            That left her and Cedric alone, again.

            “How long have you played?” He asked her, hands in his pockets.

            “Uh. . .5 years now? But I played softball before that, which definitely helped.”

            “And that’s a muggle sport?”

            “What’s a muggle?”

            “Non magical person?”

            “Oh! We call them no-maj's. Yeah, it’s a muggle sport.”

            “Did you grow up in the muggle world?”

            “Well, kinda? I went to no-maj's boarding school when I was a kid. How bout you?”

            “Homeschooled. When did you find out you were a witch?”

            The healer came back with a potion. “Drink up, should be healed within the hour. The bruise will remain, only time can heal that.”

            Siri looked at it, lips curling at the thick liquid. “Doesn’t come with a chaser, does it?”

            Cedric laughed. The healer raised a brow. “Is that how this started? A few drinks and a game of Quidditch. Children,” she shook her head, displeased. “Children, never know their own limits. Drink it, please! While we still have time to get to the game.”

            “Cheers,” Siri said, braced herself, and drank. It was the worst thing she had ever drank. If earth came in the form of chunky smoothie, this would be it.

            At one point she gagged, thinking she was going to throw it up.

            “Don’t be ridiculous, it’s not that bad.”

            She finished it, stomach churning. “I have regrets,” she said, face twisted into a sour expression as she handed over the empty glass.

            “You’re fine, out with you now,” the healer said, ushering them out.

            They got back on the broom, this time Siri putting her hand on Cedric before he knocked her off the broom. “Pro tip, don’t break your ribs. Drink isn’t good.”

            “Can I buy you a drink to make up for it?”

            She flushed. “We uh, we have to get to the game. I have to get back to Mandy – “

            “One quick drink? We grab and go.”

            She couldn’t say no.

            They got in line and it flew by. Then they had their drinks, butterbeer (whatever that was), and were flying again.

            “So, why do they call you Black?”

            “We go by last names at school,” she explained, sipping her drink. “I go to Ilvermorny.”

            “That would explain the accent.”

            “Yeah, I live in the U.S.,” basically. She didn’t have any intent of living in the UK, until her Uncle appeared, of course. “But I’ve known Mandy forever.”

            “So she gets Siri privileges?”

            “That she does.”

            “What do I have to do to get those privileges?”

            She flushed again, sipping her beer to postpone a response and maybe get some more confidence. “Uh. . .well uh. . .honestly, only my friends call me Siri, which brings the total to one. Everyone else just calls me Black.”

            “In that case, you can consider me your friend. My friends call me Ced or Cedric, feel free to call me yours.”

            She went all red and didn’t even get the chance to respond because then they were there, and Mandy was rushing to her.

            “What’s the verdict?” She asked.

            “It’s terminal,” Siri responded. “They had to cut it off.”

            The Weasley twins grinned. “You’re alright in our book Black. We’ll even forgive you for that deceit.”

            “In my defense,” she said, “you’re the ones that wanted an ego boost. Oh, oh no!” she collapsed into Mandy’s side. “Quidditch is so dangerous!” Cedric smiled, and then started to laugh as she continued. “People get injured all the time! We’ve maintained our good looks though.”

            Mandy started to laugh, resting the back of her hand on her forehead. “Oh Siri, I could’ve died. Please, tell me how brave I am?”

            “The bravest. My hero!”

            “Alright alright, before our ego’s get too bruised,” George laughed, nudging her again. “Can’t blame me for making a move.”

            “No, I was very impressed. Normally I scare people off.”

            Mandy snorted. “Nearly scared me off when we first moved in together. We had known each other since boarding school and then we decide to move in together and she tells me – “

            “The game starts in thirty minutes!” Siri exclaimed, looking at her watch. Simultaneously bringing attention to the important news and stopping Mandy from exposing the fact that she knew Siri was a witch. “Shit, we gotta go!”

            “Where’re your seats?” Cedric called. “Maybe we’re close by?”

            “I have no idea!”

            “How can you not know?!”

            “I struggle with the basic english dialect.”

            “She’s dyslexic,” Mandy explained, getting on the broom behind her. “We’re on the top row.”

            “We’re the same!” The twins exclaimed together. “See you then Black, Mandy.”

            “See you then!”

~

            The game? Fantastic. Phenomenal. Siri had always hated being benched. She hated that she was missing the action and she wanted to be in the game instead of watching it from afar and getting angry with terrible plays. But this? This was inspirational at the very least. The plays. The screaming. The energy?

            Siri had never felt so alive.

            Her voice had never gone so hoarse so quick, either.

            “LET’S GOO!”

            “FOUL! FUCKING FOUL YOU DUMBASS!”

            “I’VE MET BLIND PEOPLE WITH BETTER EYESIGHT THAN YOU!” That one was Mandy. She was yelling at a referee.

            “I question how you care for patients,” Siri said.

            “I’m a fucking angel,” Mandy assured, drinking her beer. “NOW SHOW SOME ENERGY! GAME’S NOT DONE YET!”

            Siri joined in the screaming.

            By the time the Irish won (Bulgaria got the snitch, Ireland had more points in the end), both Mandy and her voices were hoarse, and they were thoroughly buzzed.

            They collapsed on their seats as people mass exited. It was a silent agreement to wait for the crowds to dissipate because they had a long way to go down.

            “This may have been the best day of my life,” Mandy said, leaning her head against Siri’s shoulder.

            Siri smiled. “It was so great. And hey, I can breathe almost normally again.”

            “I can’t believe you let that ball hit you. It was so obviously coming at you.”

            “Oh, I’m sorry miss perfect. Next time I’ll just have 40/40 vision.”

            “Am I asking for too much?”

            Siri snorted.

            “So what happens now?” Mandy asked. “You moving here?”

            “I don’t know,” she admitted. “He’s a good kid. I. . .In Sirius’ letter he said the paperwork was already filed. I’ve been transferred.”

            “So you are moving?”

            “I don’t have to. I can travel back and forth.”

            “It’s not legal, Siri. One of these days you’re gonna get caught doing something you’re not supposed to. I don’t want to see that.”

            She rested her head on Mandy’s. “I’ll be careful.”

            “You always so that, and then you never are.”

            “I promise. We have to grow old together and talk crap about our husbands one day. How will I do that if I die young?”

            “You could get pregnant young. I want to be an Aunt.”

            “Uh, no. I’m not my mom.”

            Mandy’s entire personality quieted. “How old was she?” She whispered.

            “23.”

            “And. . .your dad?”

            “18.”

            “Jeez.”

            “Yeah.”

            Siri remembered bits of her. She had been five when she died. She remembered sad eyes, lifeless hair, a quiet house. Siri didn’t remember feeling neglected, not until she moved in with the Argents, but she did remember feeling  alone. Always with her mother but incredibly alone.

            When her mother died, life didn’t change that much.

            “I’ll always be here for you,” Mandy assured, holding her hand. “We’re family, you have my back and I have yours.”

            Siri smiled, hiding the sadness that she felt. “Without a doubt.”

            Slowly they began to make their way down, the crowds now cleared enough for it to not be chaotic. Mandy continued to talk to her, recounting the plays and everything, speaking like a real witch that had grown up in the magical world. Siri responded as appropriate, but her head was far away.

            He had died young. She had died young. Maybe she was destined for the same thing? Maybe she never would get that family that she wanted.

            The thought haunted her as they made their way all the way down to the bottom.

            Going up had been the hard part. At least going down was easier.

            When they got outside the energy returned and Siri forgot about her haunting memories. Her debilitating thoughts. She started to truly laugh and joke again as she walked through the stands with Mandy, thoroughly exhausted from pulling an unintentional all-nighter, and yet not wanting the day to end.

            Until the screaming started.

            At first it blended in. She didn’t differentiate that screaming from ‘ah, Ireland won, yeah!’ or ‘ah it was a rubbish game!’

            Until Mandy stopped, holding her wrist in a suddenly cold grip. “Siri. . .that doesn’t sound right.”

            She sobered up in an instant, all side effects of beer gone. She listened in and then she heard it. Her blood ran icy. “Get out.”

            “What?” Mandy was pale as paper.

            “You need to leave. Run the opposite way!”

            “What about you?! I can’t leave you!”

            “I have to make sure Potter’s okay! You go, promise me you’ll run and won’t stop!” Siri exclaimed, more screams of absolute, unfiltered terror piercing the night. She grabbed Mandy’s shoulders tight. “Mandy you run okay? Promise me!”

            “I promise, but Siri – “

            Siri took off. “GO!” She screamed, shoving into the crowd and running like she was a track star and not an asthmatic.

            She ran against the grain, forcing her to shove into people. Any other day she would’ve felt bad, but she had a foggy memory of how to get to Potter, and she needed to work with what she had. Getting distracted by the crowds was not part of that plan.

            Her side, the one that got hit with the bludger, started to throb, radiating across her entire left side. She braced it, getting winded and wishing she had grabbed her inhaler. Mandy had her purse though.

            She was rammed into on that same side which made everything even better. She nearly ate dirt, managing to catch her footing last second and keep rushing forward in a stumble. She turned at a clothing vendor, and then she found them.

            No, not Potter. Not Weasley either – any of the 20 something there were.

            Deatheaters.

            A problem in UK, not really in the U.S.

            A prominent problem now as several of them walked forward, confidence stinking up the area. They were chanting, some casting spells that lit tents on fires, others casting spells that raised people in the air, torturing them.

            Siri was frozen in place, horror striking her immobile.

            And once again she didn’t think. How could she? These people were being hurt by the cruelest of cruel.

            Her dad had regrets.

            Siri would have no such thing.

            So she did it without thinking.

            The spell for water was something she learned in her first year. It blew out of her wand like a Yellowstone geyser, washing the area in its powerful wash. It drenched everything in site and she demanded more, more, even more. Until she couldn’t see the fire in a fifty-foot radius. Until the Deatheaters were soaked. Until every captive they had raised off the ground to torture them was dropped, disappearing in the tents. Until she had all their attention, and the crowd around her had dissipated.

            “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size,” she snarled at them, anger burning just like that fire had.

            “Your sacrifice is as insignificant as you are,” one said, whipping out a spell wordlessly.

            She knew how to do that as well.

            She whipped it right back to the person beside them, and returned fire. The others fired at her now, realizing she wasn’t going to go down quickly, and this was exactly what she took extra classes for.

            Her father had died in war. Her mother died after, haunted by what she lost. Her Uncle, the one that raised her, had fought in the war and lived. He was never the same. And her new Uncle, who she never thought she’d meet? His scars were as prominent as his tattoos.

            Siri had learned defense magic very early on. Her legal guardian had signed up all his children to take them.

            Like she said. He may not have loved her, but he gave her what she needed.

            The spells that were sent her way were either cast aside or sent to someone else. Hopefully they were stupid enough to let it hit, most deflected. She started bringing in help, sending tents flying at them with the simple ‘wingardium leviosa!’ spell she knew like the back of her hand. She cast out more water to distract them, then used her free hand to bring over another tent to ram into them.

            Then she got hit with a spell she couldn’t deflect.

            She stilled, shock turning her entire body to ice.

            No more spells were cast her way. No more were needed.

            This one sliced her open. Several cuts formed on her body and her shaking hand slowly raised to her neck, pressing against the severed skin as she fell to her knees, and then hit the ground entirely.

            There was no mind numbing pain. It was more shock. This couldn’t be happening, how could she be dying, what type of spell could this even be. . .

            Blood soaked her clothes.

            Dark spots consumed her vision.

            The last thing she saw before she passed out was dark eyes. Darker than ink. They hovered above her, and a deep voice whispered a spell that circulated in her mind as unconsciousness claimed her.

~

            Waking up wasn’t something she expected to do. Whether she was grateful or not, only time would tell.

            Sitting up wasn’t a good decision but she never made those anyway, why start now.

            The world around her, which had once been so violently vibrant with life and uncontainable happiness, was now dark and grim, deprived of any semblance of its past.

            Her entire body hurt. She saw why when she looked down. Blood turned her crop top and skirt crunchy. It was dried which was the good thing, it had come from her which was the bad thing. The slices that had previously littered her skin were gone, but not entirely. Almost entirely healed, in its places crusted scabs. Like whoever had been healing her had to leave before completing the job.

            The bruise that took up a majority of her left ribs bloomed proudly beneath the dried blood.

            The fact that she had almost died kept her calm. Deadly calm, really.

            She stood, finding her wand and gripping it tight. The world was silent for as far as she could see. She cast a tracking spell, letting it guide her. She crept through the ash consumed campsite, nothing but a future graveyard from the looks of it.

            Her head was empty, she was fueled by a need for movement.

            A need to not think about what could’ve just happened if a stranger hadn’t arrived. . .hadn’t known the spell to use. . .hadn’t had an ounce of goodness in his heart to save her.

            She couldn’t think about it, so she didn’t.

            Then when she found Harry Potter, her Uncle’s godson, face down on the ground, she didn’t think again either. She grabbed him under his arms and dragged him to shelter where they could conceal themselves against a barely standing tent. She didn’t know why but she wrapped herself around him, holding him tight to her with her wand at the ready. Like she could protect him if she just held him and willed there to be no attackers.

            And she could honestly not remember how long she sat there in the cold, entire body aching, holding the chosen one. Waiting for death to find them but never arriving.

            Harry Potter woke first.

            It was slow, he started to move, his eyes opened, and she put her hand on his mouth to quiet him.

            “Be quiet,” she whispered to him. “I don’t know who’s around.”

            He tightened like a snake around its prey, and twisted back to see who it was. He didn’t know her based off her voice, but he did remember her face. Even in the dark night she could see how his eyes widened. His pupils were blown so wide the green nearly vanished from existence.

            “Black. . .”

            She put a finger against her lips, shaking her head.

            He quieted down, scooting out from her hold to sit beside her.

            And that was where they stayed for another indiscernible amount of time.

            She would’ve preferred to remain just like that. Naturally someone came. They heard his voice from a short distance away and curiosity was provoked. If Siri hadn’t done something Potter would have. She motioned for him to stay put, and peaked around the flap of the tent they hid behind. What she saw she didn’t like.

            Harry rested a hand on her, having not listened to her, and watched the scene for himself. His head was right above hers.

            A Deatheater, this one electing to not wear a mask like the others. His face was out for the world to see, but that didn’t matter because the crowds were all gone. He cast a spell she didn’t know into the sky, and her dark gaze reflected the green monstrosity that overtook the clouds.

            That. . .that she did know.

            “The dark mark,” she didn’t mean to say it. Shock slipped it out.

            “AH!”

            Her eyes widened, Harry not knowing how to exclaim in pain covertly and his volume drawing the attention of the Deatheater.

            His line of sight snapped to them right away, and he walked forward. Siri shoved Potter back with an elbow to the gut, raising her wand and snapping out a spell the second it came to mind.

            “Harry!” A boy exclaimed, and hopefully it wasn’t a Deatheater by the use of his name in a non-aggressive manner. She really couldn’t split her attention right now.

            The man deflected it like it was nothing, began his own spell, and then she was being attacked from behind.

            “STUPIFY!”

            “Ah!” She was grabbed and shoved to the ground, a body covering her as red spells shot overhead, threatening to knock her out if she hadn’t been moved.

            She snatched her wand and threw up a shield, the foggy white particles acting as a barricade and stopping the spell from reaching them. “Go!” She snapped at Potter. “Get out now!”

            “Not without you!” He said it like it was the easiest thing ever. Like he didn’t have to think to not abandon her.

            Another wave of spells rammed into her barrier and she held her wrist, steeling her grip and reinforcing her spell. 

            “STOP! STOP! THAT’S MY SON! THAT’S. MY. SON.” The ginger haired dad from before rushed forward and the spells stopped.

            The three others came to a stand, Siri more hesitant to take hers.

            “Ron, Harry, Hermione, are you alright?”

            “I think I’ve been better.”

            “We came back for Harry.”

            “Which of you casted it?!” One man exclaimed. “You’ve been caught at the scene of the crime!”

            “Barty, they’re just kids!”

            “What crime?” Potter asked, lost.

            He was kept from an answer, another man coming forward. He was the tallest of the group and he commanded attention. His personality was defined by silver. Silver accessories, silver hair, a silver wand. She would have recognized him anywhere. His tan skin was the same as her own.

            She was surprised he recognized her.

            “Barty,” he said, voice soft and controlling. “They did not do it.”

            “You speak for them, Argent? Where you there? You can say this for certain?” He rushed out, the man clearly paranoid.

            Argent looked down at him. “My adopted daughter is one of them. Be careful of accusing her, I don’t take it lightly.”

            Everyone looked to Hermione. Siri moved forward and did something she hadn’t done since she was 6.

            She came right up to her Uncle, telling him she needed a hug by resting her head against his chest. Her arms stayed at her side, but he wrapped his arms around her, his own shock at her actions deafening. He smelled like a home that had never been hers. The nostalgia worked to calm her down anyway.

            “Sirina. . .are you okay?”

            The nostalgia went one on one with ‘are you okay’ and lost.

            She laughed, knowing that hysteria was ten feet away and coming in hot. “Yeah, yeah, definitely fine.”

            “Were you hurt?”

            “I’m fine,” she repeated, water sliding down her dirty cheeks. “I’m sorry sir, I don’t know what came over me.” She stepped back, wiping her eyes and making a mess of the dirt on her face and the dried blood on her hand. “There was a man over there. He cast the dark mark. He was young, no older than thirty. He ran away.”

            “Gentlemen, with me.”

            The man named Barty stole most of the men away. Her Uncle and Mr. Weasley lingered. Her Uncle didn’t stop looking at her, spotting all the blood on her with the faint glow of his wand.

            “Sirina. . .” He said again, brows drawn together in concern. He faltered on what to say next.

            “I’m sorry sir, I have to go find my friend. We. . .we got split up. I’ll. . .I’m gonna head out. . .”

            Sirina left, ignoring her name being called, plagued by the memories of getting cut open. She could still hear herself choking on her own blood.

[green-ville]

Regrets

Synopsis: When Sirius Black came to her and asked her to watch over his godson, she didn’t think it would end up like this.

            A Triwizard Tournament. The strongest, bravest, most courageous. Three willing participants to take on challenges larger than life and only one would be the victor of eternal glory. People had died in this challenge. Only an idiot would put their name in it.

            When Sirina’s name is called, it was the last thing she expected.

            When Harry’s name was called, the fourth wizard in a tournament of three, she knew her Uncle Sirius was right.

            Someone was trying to kill him. And from the fact that she didn’t put her name in the Goblet of Fire, someone was clearly trying to kill her as well.

            Family meant everything to her. Sirina refused to let Harry Potter die, and she’d take every risk to keep him alive.

            Was drunk karaoke really the best idea? One drink in, she could not be removed from her seat. Her friend went up alone because she had the confidence to pull this off. Two drinks in, there was a buzz without courage. Three drinks in, she was almost tempted. Four drinks in, and yeah. Yeah it was a good idea. Especially five drinks in. She was killing it.

            After that it was a bathroom break and chugging two glasses of water so she didn’t wake up horribly dehydrated. She hated that feeling, which is why she also brought two waters for her friend.

            Her friend was nowhere to be found. Siri had never sobered up so quickly. She snatched their two skateboards up and powered through the door, exiting the loud bar and entering the cold, quieter night. The street they were on was busy but Siri had always had good hearing. Or maybe it was the paranoia that the one exceptionally dark alleyway looked like the perfect opportunity to do something horrible.

            She rushed there in a cold sweat instead of her previous warm sweat from singing and dancing. Siri found her friend right away, and there was a man with her, pushing her against a wall.

            Siri didn’t think, a common habit of hers. She stormed forward, dropping one skateboard loudly. The man twisted, spotted her coming, and Mandy shouted, kicking him away.

            He yelped, caught off guard, only for Siri to knock him clean out with an aggravated swing of her skateboard.

            Siri hit him so hard that he was unconscious before he hit the ground and she cracked her skateboard. When she saw that, she sagged. “Dammit, again?”

            “I totally had that dude,” Mandy said, clasping her hand and bringing her in for a hug. She clapped her back twice. “Thanks though.”

            “Anytime. Kinda tired though, wanna head out?”

            “A bed sounds great.”

            Siri discretely mended her skateboard with a quick spell. It was as good as new when she rolled down the street with Mandy at her side.

            “You excited for school?” Mandy asked with a grin.

            Siri snorted, leather jacket rippling in the wind as she sped up, kicking off the ground. “Oh yeah. Another year of no friends, spending all my time in the library, and getting fouled out in Quidditch. What’s not to love?”

            The last part was actually fun. She loved Quidditch. Her teammates weren’t bad, they just weren’t friends. They had an understanding on the field to be the best and work more fluidly than water, but outside the field it was like they had never met each other before. And Siri had the most fouls of anyone in the history of Ilvermorny. She was known for her hard swings. As a beater, there wasn’t a higher compliment.

            “I have to attend a game one of these days,” Mandy sighed, running a hand through her wavy hair as they wove in and out of the night life. “Seriously, just sneak me in please?”

            “You know I will. First game, you’ll be there.”

            They stopped talking as the crowds got thicker, focusing instead on just getting home.

            Home was an apartment on the fifth floor of the building. The elevator was broken so they had to walk up the stairs. Mandy was out of breath at the top, and Siri was giggling.

            “No matter how many times I do these stupid stairs, always kills me.”

            “You’d hate Ilvermorny. Lotta stairs.”

            “Who needs magic when you have elevators? I’ll take the win.”

            Mandy unlocked the door to their apartment and inside Siri stopped. Mandy didn’t see it yet, and she didn’t see it until Siri reacted, grabbing her by the collar and yanking her back. She yelped, stumbling, and Siri was in front of her then, wand out. The spell was whipped out before she could even shout the words, her thoughts enough to send it zipping across the room –

            And the man in the darkness sent the spell into her wall, burning the wood black and ruining the wallpaper there.

            It was enough to confirm though.

            Wizard.

            “Who are you and what do you want?” Siri snapped, armed and ready to send more spells.

            They were in her home. They were waiting for her. She would not take this breaking and entering lightly.

            “You look just like him.”

            Her brows knit. She could feel Mandy gripping the back of her jacket, hiding behind her. She had no protection against magic and even if she liked to fight, she knew fists were outmatched here.

            “Like who?” Siri asked, glaring, entirely unprepared for her answer.

            “Your father.”

            Her mouth dried up and she got that feeling that she hated. The morning after drinking too much, waking up deprived of water and in desperate need of a few liters. A headache throbbing at the base of her head and sending black spots across her vision.

            Siri didn’t remember her father. He died when she was young. No one in the U.S. knew of her father, his family name was prominent in the UK.

            So this man in the dark knew her father. He thought she looked like him. He wore tattered clothing. He smelled. . .horrible. Like he spent his time on the run. Like he lived in a zoo?

            There weren’t that many options, especially with the news that came a few months ago.

            Siri lowered her wand, shoulders squaring back.

            “Hello, Uncle.” Cold words for a cold greeting.

            “Niece,” he returned, warm.

            “Is this the one that escaped prison?” Mandy whispered behind her.

            “Yes.”

            “Is he going to kill us?”

            “I don’t believe so.”

            Mandy sagged. “Well thank God, I’m starving.” She flipped on the lights, moonlight no longer lighting the room as yellow fluorescent lit up the space. She moved around Siri who still remained tense, and waved to her Uncle. “I’m Mandy, nice to meet you. I’m gonna grab some food, you interested?”

            Her Uncle never looked away from Siri.

            Her gaze never let up.

            “Just like that?” He asked, voice raspy.

            Her brow raised. “Did you do it?”

            “You believe I didn’t?” The confusion and disbelief masked his flicker of hope.

            “Did you do it?” Siri asked again, more forcefully.

            “No.”

            “No,” Siri agreed, still hard. “I don’t believe you did it.”

            “Why?”

            Her lips flattened. “Take a shower. You smell. I’ll bring you a change of clothes.”

            She did just that, silently pointing out the shower to him and grabbing him a change of clothes from her closet. They were about the same size anyway, he was malnourished.

            He showered and Mandy made some food as Siri sat at the table, twirling her wand between her fingers.

            “Talk to me Goose.”

            Siri remained silently, staring, fixated on a wooden board without processing it. “My dad died when I was young. I don’t remember him.”

            “You talk about him a lot though, I thought. . .”

            She thought her dad had died later in life.

            “I have letters from him.” She swallowed, picking up her glass of water, sipping slowly. Emotions pricked at her and her chest was tight. She hated talking about this, which is why no one knew. Mandy was like her sister though, the only family she really had. “He wrote me letters, they were like diary entries.” She smiled. “He’d start with, ‘Dearest Siri’ and end it with ‘you have all my love, dad’. He just talked to me like he knew he was going to die. He told me everything, and when I was younger I didn’t understand it, but the more I read them - the more I learned of the world,” she specified, “the more I understood. He died when I was 1 but it always felt like he was with me because of those letters. I felt like I knew him, his struggles, his strengths, his regrets.”

            Water pooled and she looked away, gaze up to the ceiling to stop the tears from spilling. “He talked about his brother, Sirius Black. He never sang anything but praises about his loyalty, his compassion, his dedication to his friends. My dad wanted friends like that, but he ended up in the wrong crowd.” She exhaled, calming the ache. “The person my dad described could have never betrayed his friends. If he was wrong about that, then what else was he wrong about? And I can’t do that. I can’t tarnish his image when it’s all I’ve had. The news already hated him, they said horrible things about him. . .I just wanted to pretend they didn’t know the real him. Not like I do.”

             Mandy sat down beside her, reaching out and holding her hand. “I’m sorry Siri. That’s a lot to deal with.”

            She shrugged, wiping a stray tear away. “It’s whatever. He died doing the right thing. . .”

            Sirius Black came out of the bathroom, changed into new clothes and smelling less like zoo dumpster. He wore jeans and a green sweater which didn’t fit his style, but it fit.

            He came towards them, rubbing his hands together, curling hair falling around his scarred face in ringlets. “Thank you, Sirina.”

            “Everyone calls me Black.”

            “Then thank you, Black.”

            She motioned for him to sit down and Mandy set a sandwich down in front of him. He thanked her with a kind smile, the action oozing honesty.

            Siri would’ve asked him more questions, but the way he eyed the sandwich clued her in to how hungry he was. She told him he could eat first and once she saw how much sandwich he devoured in one bite she motioned Mandy to make him another. Mandy was already on it.

            “Dare I think you came her for a reunion?” She inquired, still twirling her wand as she watched him carefully.

            He finished his last bite with a long drink, leaving no crumbs behind. “I did want to meet you. I. . .I didn’t know about you.”

            “Dad kept me a secret. He was in a dangerous crowd.”

            “He told you?”

            “In ways. How did you find out about me?”

            “Our family house, one of them, has a family tree. You were on it. I’ve been searching ever since.”

            “And now that you’ve found me, what exactly do you want? You didn’t come all this way to America just to meet your niece.”

            “I did want to meet you,” he repeated as Mandy set another sandwich in front of him. He thanked her again. “Truly, if I had known about you I would’ve. . .I don’t know. I would’ve done something. I would’ve tried. I’m sorry you ended up with the Argents. Amarissa was nice, but her siblings are. . .tough.”

            That was an understatement. After Siri’s mom died, custody went to her side of the family. They kept her around for a bit, but they never got over her name. Black. They sent her to America for boarding school as soon as they could. She came home for summers.

            Now she was 17 and legally independent of them. They still sent her money to help her, but after school she had a feeling ties would be cut.

            They provided her with everything she needed though.

            She shrugged. “They got the job done.”

            “Did they ever love you?” It mattered to him. Everything about him told her that her father was right. He was being honest with his praise.

            “They got the job done,” she repeated.

            “I’m sorry.”

            She could see he was.

            “I. . .I don’t have much time, either. I don’t think they followed me here but I don’t want to get either of you in trouble. I. . .I don’t want to ask this but I’m worried.”

            Her brows knit. “Worried about what?”

            “My godson.”

            Her confusion only grew. “Who’s your godson?”

            “Harry Potter.” The name was only a whisper and yet it silenced the room with its power.

            Siri’s heart stopped, chest tightening again. “Holy Shit.”

            Sirius cracked a smile. On the broken man it was a shinning light.

            Sirius continued, filling her stunned silence. “There’s this. . .this tournament of sorts. The Triwizard Tournament. I’m not supposed to know about it, very few do. It’s going to be taking place at Hogwarts this year – “

            “What the hell is Hogwarts?” Mandy asked. “Is that a zoo?”

            “School, like Ilvermorny,” Siri explained.

            “It’s dangerous. Kids have died in this tournament. It was banned for decades, and now they’re bringing it back. And – and every year he’s faced something. Something has gone wrong, he’s been attacked – “ Siri could see where this was going. Sirius’ words picked up, talking faster as his nerves took over. “He’s just a boy, I’m worried somehow – someway he’ll end up in it. And I – I can’t take care of him. Not like this. I can’t watch over him – “

            “You want me to go to Hogwarts,” Siri realized slowly.

            His gaze lowered, ashamed. “Yes.”

            He came all this way to ask her to watch over his godson. He was a hunted man, the price for his capture was steep, and yet he risked it all to come see her and ask for her help. She had never met this man before and he had the audacity to come all this way to ask her to watch over someone she had never even met before.

            “I’m sorry,” he said, guilt eating away at him more violently than the malnourishment. “I know, we’ve never even met before and the first thing I do is ask for a favor. And a large one at that. You have no reason to say yes – “

            “Yes.”

            “I know, but I’m asking that you please – “

            Siri cut in again, locking gazes with him. “Yes,” she repeated. “Yes, I’ll go.”

            He blinked. Mandy stopped chewing.

            “What?” He asked, that disbelief prominent again.

            “I don’t know how I’ll transfer so quickly, school is less than a month away, but – “

            “I can do that!” Hope brightened his black irises. “I can – I can get it all taken care of. I’ll pay for it all, too. Anything you need will be done. Thank you, Sirina – Black. Thank you. I. . .I’m. . .I wished I could’ve come here just to meet you. From this alone. . .I know Reg would’ve been so proud of you.”

            That mattered more to her than she allowed him to see.

~

            Sirius left on a Hippogriff he had left on their roof. How he managed to not get caught was beyond her. That wasn’t exactly discrete.

            The second he was gone, the questions came.

            “Siri – “

            “I know.”

            “Did you think –“

            “Yes.”

            “Are you sure – “

            “Positively.”

            Mandy looked at her with wide eyes. Her cheeks were flushed. She ended with the last, and most important, question. “Why?”

            That was the easiest question of them all. It was a loaded answer, though.

            Because her dad had so many regrets, and she didn’t want to have any. Because she only had one person she ever considered family, and maybe this would get her more. Because he came all this way to ask her for help, without knowing her. And then after she agreed he didn’t immediately leave. He stayed two hours longer just to talk with her. To ask her a thousand questions that didn’t matter. ‘What do you like to do?’ ‘Tell me about Quidditch!’ ‘I was a beater too.’ ‘I’ve seen your grades. . .you got that from your mother.’

            It was like he wanted to know her.

            She wanted to know him and he said he’d write. He’d write her knowing the risks.

            “Because why not?” Siri answered and left the roof. She locked the door to her room and laid on her bed, staring at the dark ceiling as she lost herself to her own thoughts.

[green-ville]

Remnant Pt 2

            Synopsis: She was going to die. The blade was to her throat. The identical spots where her wings were freshly stolen from bled profusely. The pain was sharp, paralyzing. It didn’t help the fear that crippled her the rest of the way, stealing even the breath from her.

            Death never came.

            Roslyn woke in a foreign land, with foreign kings and queens, and foreign problems that she wound up in. She watched the downfall of a great nation, she helped save that nation with the woman named Aelin, she had a child. She had moved on. There was nothing else to do, she didn’t know how she ended up there or how to get back to what she once considered home.

            Until she wakes up, and she’s there again.

            She had moved on. Old memories resurface. Feelings that she suppressed but never got over boiled to the surface. Revenge screamed in her mind, and Roslyn went after it.

            In her pursuit, she made her gravest mistake of all.

            When Rhysand found out his sister was alive, he sent his greatest hunter after her. It was only a matter of time before they reunited, and Roslyn had buried that part of her hundreds of years ago.

            “You used to do this?” Margareet asked, disbelief and awe lacing her words.

            Roslyn laughed, the sound with the same whimsical air as bell chimes. “Only once, mother said I was too young.” That’s what she said, but Roslyn knew what she meant, and they were two different matters. “Rhys stole me away and took me here one night,” Roslyn grinned, staring down the large mountain.

            They were bundled up, Roslyn liberating a shop of the equipment just for the two of them. They’d return them before they were ever found out, but they needed the extra layers. It had been a while since she had seen snow, let alone sled in it.

            “I broke my leg,” Roslyn said, the memory warming her. “Mother was furious.”

            Margareet looked at her with wide eyes. “Am I going to break something?”

            “Dearest,” she reminded, “you’ve survived a war. And you have wings.”

            Margareet breathed out a puff, relieved. The panic shown again; “Are you going to break something?”

            “There’s always the possibility,” Roslyn agreed, fitting her feet in the slots, “but I like to think not.” She hopped forward, teetering on the edge of the slope. “Now, remember what I taught you about this.”

            “You didn’t teach me anything! You didn’t even tell me what we were doing until now!”

            “I believe in you!”

            Roslyn tipped forward, and was off. The wind hit her hard, infiltrating her hood and ruffling the fur. There was that fear, it tightened her stomach and turned her legs to jelly, but it was gone right after.

            For the first time since they were taken, Roslyn truly felt free. Irrevocably free. Could she soar through the skies on wings on her own? No, but she was flying across the mountain right now. She commanded herself, and no one else ruled her.

            Her laugh graced the night of childish delight, and with a wavering squeal, her daughter joined her, wings flapping to push her to the edge and then over. She laughed with her mother, wings catching the air and taking her off the ground in a different way than her mother.

            Roslyn slowed for her daughter, looking back, making sure she followed, and her grin burst wide. Her daughter sped ahead, and Roslyn followed suit, swerving back and forth.

            “Look at you go! You’re amazing!” Roslyn cheered, finding an incline and catching it. She bent more at her knees and soared off the end, flying through the air.

            The world turned upside down, blood rushed the wrong direction, and the landing was soft. She cut across the open snow, feeling absolutely unstoppable.

            “There’s a drop up ahead!” Margareet cried, fear hitting again.

            “Use your wings!”

            “You don’t have wings!”

            “Don’t worry about me! I’ll be fine!”

            And she would be. Roslyn had heard Rhysand’s tales a thousand times. She could do this, nothing would stop her.

            The drop came up, Margareet reached it first by seconds. Her wings flared out, and she shot over the edge, a dusting of snow trailing after her.

            Anticipation crawled along her skin, the cold brutal air sucked into her lungs, and Roslyn followed, shoving away from the cliff at her last possible second. She flipped again, slower this time, not caring to rush it. Her hand grabbed the board beneath her feet, holding it close.

            This was what Rhysand always felt, no wonder he was so empowered. If she could have done this half as many times as he had, perhaps she would’ve had the strength to save her wings.

            She stopped her flipping, hands carried into the air as she planned her landing. It was going to be soft, there was enough snow to cushion her, it was only a matter of not caving under the fear and allowing herself to slice across the land.

            Margareet landed, wings softening the blow. She looked back, watching Roslyn and cheering as she landed, snow flashing as she swept back and forth, quickly reaching her again.

            “This is fantastic!” Margareet screamed over the roar of the wind as they slid back and forth, intertwining with each other, fastening their speeds down the long and steady slope.

            “It’s only the beginning!” Roslyn promised, and her heart dropped as a figure appeared directly in front of her. Too close for her to stop, her brain froze too long for her to swerve.

            He turned slowly as if questioning where he was. He saw her, eyes widening, and darkness encompassed him as if it still had a chance to save him. It didn’t. Roslyn slammed into him, hearing a faint scream of:

            “MOM!”

            Before the darkness stole her away too.

            The breath flew from her lungs as the world reformed again, and she slammed into the ground hard on her shoulder, rolling and rolling and rolling and SLAM!

            Her hood covered her eyes, and even then, she left them shut for a long moment. There was a shocking change from winter cold to castle cold, from frigid fresh air to crisp fresh. Her body went from no pain, to a world of pain.

            A door burst open, she heard groaning, and then shouting.

            “Azriel, by the maker, what the hell happened?!”

            “Az, are you alright?!”

            “Someone get Madja!”

            The quietest of them all belonged for her. “Roslyn?”

            Her head raised, stars bursting in her vision. Her head pounded, her leg throbbed, her shoulder screamed. Blood slid down her head, and she looked into the matching eyes of her brother.

            “Rhysand. . .If anyone lays a hand on her. . .I will soak your crops in blood and feed it to your livestock,” she cursed from the bottom of her heart, snarl painted on her lips as the crowd doubled in size not because of additional members, but because her vision replicated everyone.

            At least it did before everything went dark, pain overwhelming her and slipping her into a stormy sleep.

            ~

            Was her mother going to kill her for this? Yes. Hear her out; her mother would destroy a continent if it was Margareet in her place. At the very least, Margareet should be allowed to sneak into a mountain based home to get her back. She would take the argument in stride later, for now; get her mother back.

            Once her mother disappeared with that man, she followed right after, darkness swirling and sucking her in. She reappeared in the city they left behind five days prior. Through common sense, Margareet figured her mother to be in the House of Wind, the very place her mother said to steer clear from. If her mother said avoid, that had to be where they took her.

            Spotting it was difficult. There was a hefty amount of stairs leading up, and even then, she couldn’t necessarily sneak into it by going up the stairs. Not like she could climb that many stairs without wanting to fling herself from them.

            Margareet would have to fly, breaking her mother’s second rule.

            One: no matter what happens to me, you always run away.

            Two: never let anyone see you fly.

            Guilt wracked her to the point she was almost sick. Sick with fear and worry and stress. She had never been apart from her mother, and therefore she had everything to prove. That she could do this, that she could get her mother back and protect herself while doing it.

            Margareet would sneak in from above, and from the storm clouds rolling in, she was going to have to do it quick.

            -

            Margareet was not quick. The storm clouds beat her and she was drenched in seconds, hair clinging to her face, trousers and blouse weighing her down. Her wings beat harder as she fought higher, higher.

            Lightning flashed, blinding her, and thunder cracked a second later, deafening her too. She covered her ringing ears, stomach taut, back aching –

            She burst from the storm, rising above it with clouds trailing behind her. She breathed the icy air, now wet and frozen to the point. The moon shone on her again, still as bright as the last time she saw its crescent shape. The air felt thin, her head felt light. . .lighter. . .

            Her wings stopped flapping, hands reaching towards the sky as she fell. Lethargically, she blinked, reentering the storm, clouds blocking out all moonlight.

             A curse rattled in her head and she flipped, stomach to the ground, and angled herself towards the House of Wind, wings flaring their entire length and turning her fall into a glide. A sharp glide, really. She was almost directly above it, having hidden herself in the clouds to prevent herself from being seen.

            Her heart rammed in her chest, finding her landing point and willing courage into existence.

            She had fought in a war. Her Auntie had been captured too once and came back different.

            Margareet would not allow her mother the same punishment.

            Her wings angled differently and instead of angling a decline, they caught air, slowing her landing. She beat then, resisting the impact so that when her black covered feet finally touched down on the balcony, she was as silent as the dead.

            Her elevated breathing slowed, remembering the wise teachings of her Uncles. Her tiny build was an advantage. She was quick. No one expected a little girl to pounce. Be quick, act first, question later. Go for the neck. If you can’t get that, the knee or ankle. Anything to slow them down. Then run like hell.

            The wise words of her Auntie echoed inside her. Her name was Margareet, she would not be afraid.

            With the twist of the door handle, Margareet entered the house of wind. Nothing gave her away as the door closed behind her, quietening the gentle rise of the storm outside. Thunder cracked again, providing her drips and steps additional coverage. She removed her boots, electing to go barefoot for the sake of eradicating the noise it created from being wet.

            She was in a study of sorts, her mother wouldn’t be here. She swept through, searching for any aids, and found a tunic thrown across a chair. She grabbed it, drying her dripping hair, wiping her eyes, brushing it gently over her wings. She abandoned in back on the chair, and crept towards the door out, ear peaking out first to get a sound.

            Her eyes shut, listening carefully, and she picked up on indiscernible chatter.

            Naturally she headed towards it, without any real plan for what she would do when she got there.

            To her credit, she did make it down an entire flight of stairs, now in a different corridor, when she sensed the disturbance. She kept prowling like she hadn’t sensed it, trying to figure out why they hadn’t attacked her right away.

            With a burst of action she whirled, ducking down and aiming for the knee.

            The tree like figure evaded and she pursued, on a vicious offense of jabs and sweeps and arching stabs that he evaded every. Single. Time.

            “You rely too much on your hands,” he noticed, dropping down, sweeping her leg out from beneath her.

            She stumbled, would have fallen if it weren’t for her wings flapping. She snarled, feigning for a stab when instead, she swept her leg up with every intention of kicking him in the legs.

            Something dark grabbed onto her leg as he stepped back, and she was yanked up, falling onto her butt with a shrill of pain up her spine.

            “Your mother already tried that on me,” the shadow consumed figure admitted lightly, “forgive me for not allowing a reoccurrence.”

            She scrambled to a stand, giving herself space again. “Give me her back or I’ll cut out your heart and feed it to my ghost leopard.”

            “We mean her no harm – “

            She attacked, somersaulting across the ground and disappearing, reappearing right behind him. She shouted, a terrible decision on her part but she was used to doing that. No one was quiet in war.

            She shouted as she tried to stab her blade into his ankle. He jumped up high, she rolled onto her shoulders and kicked him in the rear when he came down.

            He stumbled a step, disappearing into his own darkness.

            Margareet stood and ran, knowing she was outmatched and figuring the best offense now was alerting her mother she was here.

            “MOTHER! MOTHER!”

            A dark tether gripped her ankle and pulled her down. Her wings flapped, trying to keep her up. It was one thing to fight on her feet, to be on the ground was harder.

            She was on the ground, screaming her head off.

            “I’m not going to hurt you! – “

            She flipped onto her back, no longer being dragged, spotting the shadow man again. She threw her dagger, or at least attempted to. Another shadow tendril grabbed her wrist – she tried with her other hand – grabbed too.

            Restrained, all but her right foot. That was absolutely useless.

            She thrashed and screamed again, pouring out her rage and hate. “I’ll kill you! I’ll fucking kill you, you piece of shit! I’ll feed your eyes to ravens – “

            “By the maker Azriel, let her go!”

            “She’s trying to kill me!”

            “You have her in restraints! We have her mother! Of course she’s trying to kill you!”

            Her restraints vanished and shadows consumed her, depositing her behind the newcomer. She shouted, kicking him behind the knees to bring him down to her level. He crumbled with a chortle of surprise, and she grabbed at his neck with one arm, tightening her hold with the second.

            On his knees before her, she glared to the man in the shadows.

            “I will have my mother,” she ordered softly, “Or you will have death.”

            “Your mother is sleeping. – No we did not drug her.”

            Her fangs bared, not believing a single thing that came from his mouth.

            “My dear, we are not your enemies,” the man she currently had a chokehold on addressed her softly, hands raised in surrender. “This is all a misunderstanding.”

            “You kidnapped my mother.”

            “Your mother is my sister.”

            Surprise hit her like a flash of lightning.

            “And I thought she died over 500 years ago,” spoken in the voice of a broken man.

            Margareet pulled him back, his hands grabbing her forearm in shock, the shadow man stepping forward in warning, but she paid it no mind. She looked at his face, brows straight and judgmental, assessing for dishonesty and reason to tighten her hold.

            Instead she found violet eyes, the same as her own.

            “Prove it,” she whispered to him.

            “You’re named after our grandmother.”

            Margareet cursed, stepping away and dropping her hold on him. “Well damn, what a greeting you made. Auntie Aelin gives me sweets, Uncle Rowan gives me piggyback rides – and you kidnap my damn mother. What the hell is wrong with you?”

            “She ran away!” He guffawed. “And Azriel didn’t mean to kidnap her, he winnowed like he’s never winnowed before,” he spared a quick glare to Azriel, “and reacted poorly when Roslyn came barreling towards him.”

            “You should terminate his position and hire someone competent.” Her uncle smiled brightly, a gleam in his violet eyes.

            “I did stop you,” Azriel commented dryly.

            “I’m a 10-year-old girl. That is not impressive.”

            “But you’re a rather impressive 10-year-old girl, not many could sneak into the House of Wind without my supposedly well trained guards spotting you first.” Another glare to Azriel.

            He sighed. “I did see her, it was a choice to not stop her. The last time I put myself in front of a female going that fast, she broke her leg. And,” he stressed the word, “I wanted to see what she would do.”

            “You broke my mothers leg?” Margareet snapped, anger revived. She pulled another dagger from her person, storming forward. “I’ll cut off your dic-“

            He vanished from sight and her Uncle rose, hands out to her. “Darling Margareet, I understand your anger. Why don’t we go see Roslyn?”

            She pivoted, dagger raised, glare fixated on him. “Understand this, Rhysand, I have a large family. I have more Aunt’s and Uncle’s than I care to count, the King of Adarlan thinks I am an angel, the Queen of Terrasen would break the world if it pleased me, and the Queen of Witches would gladly kill anyone I point my finger at.” She stepped closer to him, looking up at his unnecessary height. “If for one second I deem the best interest of my mother is not in your heart, Manon Blackbeak will tear your throat out with her iron nails. Do I make myself clear?”

            He had the audacity to smile down at her. “I want nothing but the best for my sister, and for my niece. It seems you have an arsenal of allies already, but it cannot hurt to have one more.” He rested his hand on his chest, and bowed his head. “You have the High Lord of the Night Court at your back as well, darling Margareet.”

            “Then take me to my mother.”

[green-ville]

Remnant

            Synopsis: She was going to die. The blade was to her throat. The identical spots where her wings were freshly stolen from bled profusely. The pain was sharp, paralyzing. It didn’t help the fear that crippled her the rest of the way, stealing even the breath from her.

            Death never came.

            Roslyn woke in a foreign land, with foreign kings and queens, and foreign problems that she wound up in. She watched the downfall of a great nation, she helped save that nation with the woman named Aelin, she had a child. She had moved on. There was nothing else to do, she didn’t know how she ended up there or how to get back to what she once considered home.

            Until she wakes up, and she’s there again.

            She had moved on. Old memories resurface. Feelings that she suppressed but never got over boiled to the surface. Revenge screamed in her mind, and Roslyn went after it.

            In her pursuit, she made her gravest mistake of all.

            When Rhysand found out his sister was alive, he sent his greatest hunter after her. It was only a matter of time before they reunited, and Roslyn had buried that part of her hundreds of years ago. She wasn't ready to reawaken those parts of her.

~~

            The quiet night was indiscernible from every other quiet night. The shops were closed, their insides dark. The two inns were louder, lights bright and exuding an orange warmth to combat the deep blue and violet atmosphere. Laughter and chatting and music emitted, but that was put to shame by Rita’s.

            The cobblestone path carried it all, and yet there was no other way to describe the night than quiet. A million stars lighting the sky, mountains lining the distance and simultaneously closing them in, while expanding the world beyond comprehension.

            Tall, daunting, dark, and beautiful and gentle all the same.

            Fae light lined the streets, turning the odd dark alley into something visible. Not enough to hide the figures that lurked in the darkest shadows, however.

            A man of considerable height blocked the view of the more lieth figure. He had two hands on the wall, the act intimate and personal and not appropriate for such a public spot. Especially when Rita’s was so close.

            There was nothing intimate about what was being done though.

            The man’s lips slid from the woman’s neck as he collapsed to the ground, bleeding from a stab to the side of his neck. Blood pulsed out, soon drenching his right wing and staining the stone ground.

            And the woman calmly, with a dead gaze, wiped her bloody dagger on a black cloth she had tied to her waist. She sheathed the blade, and with the grace of a dancer, she stepped over the man and left him to choke on the ground, body shaking softly as the last bit of life ran away from him, laughing in crazed glee.

            Reentering the world, she walked confidently and silently. Her midnight black hair swayed, her poofy pants that were synched at her waist and ankles moved like the gentle roll of a wave. Dual daggers, blades slender and well cared for, were strapped to her waist, but hidden by additional fabric of her slacks. It was a subtle alcove, a thin piece of fabric that made it seem like she was wearing a skirt from the back, but clearly not from the front. The wrap finished at her waist, providing that little hiding spot for her daggers in the process.

            Everything about her commanded attention, but she hid from it, clinging to the shadows and evading all points where she could be spotted. There was no one on the street, but she took the precaution anyway.

            It got her to a certain point, at the least. She didn’t hear him because he couldn’t be heard, not when he prowled through the shadows like he was born from them. There was truth to that even if it was a guess.

            He emerged, and she felt the shift, the presence. She whirled, and he was right behind her, a hulking figure.

            “You killed. . .”

            He had a nice voice, deep and rich. It could’ve read anyone to sleep. Unfortunately, her suspicions were correct. He knew what she had done.

            She had no quarrels against killing him. While he might not have been on her list, resentment burned hot. He had wings. He wore Illyrian leathers.

            To her? There was no greater a crime.

            The slink of her blades withdrawing cut through the night, and she aimed straight for his neck. He caught her wrist and she jabbed with her other dagger -he caught her second wrist, still staring down at her with hazel eyes. His grip was strong, preventing her movement, but it wasn’t harsh. It wasn’t bruising, not nearly enough to do damage.

            “Who are you?”

            She snarled, and brought her knee up. His eyes widened at the contact and his grip tightened on her, not letting go. He was bending slightly though, and that she could use. She kicked the side of his knee quickly after she kneed him, his leg went out, bending under her will. She stepped on his thigh, other leg wrapping onto his shoulder. His grip on her broke and she wrapper her legs around his head. Her daggers came up, prepared to end the man, when she was grabbed.

            She processed it too late. The heavy flapping of wings as his partner swooped down from above. He grabbed her, quicker than a snake, and overpowered her with ease. She was yanked off of the hazel eyed man, preventing his death for now.

            She was flown off, feet unable to reach the ground. She kicked, shouting as her daggers were rendered useless with the hold. She crunched up, pulling on the man that carried her, and she kicked him in the gut, which, while also protected by leathers, did its job. Simultaneously breaking his hold on her and dropping her to the ground.

            She flipped the rest of the way, landing cat like in a squat, one hand on the ground, blade pressed down and reflecting the moonlight.

            The Illyrian guard dropped down, wings flaring and her glare deepened, shifting her stance to keep both guards in her view. The second one joined, as quiet as a mouse.

            “You killed a soldier. A crime punishable by death,” the one that grabbed her accused.

            “Prove it.”

            “The man is dead, and you were running.”

            “No I wasn’t. I was headed home.”

            “You were slinking in the shadows.”

            “I’m a woman, it’s the only safe way to get home without being grabbed,” she snarled.

            The hazel eyed man narrowed his gaze, anger burning.

            The other man piqued his brow instead. “Velaris is one of the safest cities on the continent.”

            “No it’s not, a man’s just died. As guards, you should go look into it.”

            “Did he try to touch you?” The hazel eyed man asked softly.

            “What does it matter to you?” She snapped.

            “As guards,” he took her own words, “we have to look into that man’s death. So I ask again, did he touch you?”

            She didn’t like how he said it, like he cared, how he kept such heavy eye contact, like he wanted honesty and could snuff out a lie from a mile away. It was all a façade and she refused to allow it to be used against her.

            She needed an escape, and there was only one escape where they couldn’t track her.

            “Azriel! Cass!” A woman shouted, and that changed everything.

            Her eyes widened for a fraction of a second, recognition flaring. Azriel caught it, as if he had been waiting for it, or questioning himself if his own thoughts were true. He stepped forward, “You are–“

            Darkness consumed her, she heard a distant shout, but it was already too late.

            She was gone, reappearing in an alley not too different from the one she originally left, but with a greater treasure hidden away.

            “Margareet, quickly,” the woman called, darkness still swirling at her feet. At her command, the still scene broke and a figure raced forward.

            Short, fast, cutting to the bake of the alley. Her body was hidden by a large cloak, and from that glimpse alone, Margareet was a picture of disfigurement. Her back had to have been mangled somehow, there was no other reason for such a misshapen figure.

            Margareet threw her arms around the woman’s middle, and they were gone, leaving Velaris behind once and for all.

            They reappeared in a cave far, far away. Moonlight reached several feet in but stopped short of them.

            Margareet stepped back, pulling off her hood and revealing the spry face of a young girl with a spark to her gaze and a matching one to her step.

            “Did you do it mom? Did you get him?”

            “I got him love,” she smiled softly, caressing her daughters face. “Now, we go wherever,” she promised. “Wherever your heart desires, it shall be yours.”

            “I don’t know this world. . .I want to go home.”

            “And when I figure out how to get home, it shall be. But for now, I think I might know a place you like.”

            “Where?” She asked, removing her cloak.

            She wasn’t disfigured at all. She had wings. The little girl had wings.

            “You’ll see,” her mother grinned. “But for now, we head west. Show me how good your flying has gotten, hmm?”

            Margareet laughed her excitement, childish glee infectious as she dropped her cloak, ran to the edge of the cave, and leapt out without any fear. Her wings spread out, catching the air, and her mother neared the edge, cloak in hand, and smiled.

            The phantom pain of once having her own wings tightened at her back, where the scars raised from her skin. And yet, watching her daughter, she could almost imagine herself flying beside her.

            Her heart gripped hard in her chest, old memories she didn’t even know she had resurfacing.

            Azriel. Cassian. She knew boys with those names before. Annoying and bothersome, her mother loved them, and worst of all, they were her brothers’ best of friends.

            Her brother. She hadn’t thought of him in years. It had been. . .hundreds of years. She didn’t even know what he looked like now.

            And she couldn’t do this to him. She couldn’t return after so long. She didn’t know how she left her world, but she had. She had mourned him, he had likely mourned her.

            She couldn’t bring about his suffering anymore. He had their mother after all, he wasn’t alone.

            Darkness wrapped her in its cold embrace again, and she reappeared on the forest floor, where her daughter swept overhead. “Come now, Margareet,” she called her daughter. They moved at night, only at night. It was the only time her daughter could fly without fear of being hunted and stripped of her freedom, and she’d be damned to eternity in hell before her daughter suffered as she had. “Let’s go.”

            “Coming mom!”

            ~

            “Rhysand!” He heard his name first, and then his brothers landed on the balcony of his study. He was illuminated with Fae light on his desk, papers scattered before him in what appeared to be chaos, but was truly controlled. He knew where everything he needed was.

            “So I’ve been called,” Rhys remarked, looking up, wondering why the rush.

            “Thyras is dead, killed outside Rita’s,” Cassian informed. “We tracked his killer down. She escaped, but. . .” He trailed off, stuck with hesitancy.

            His brow rose. “A woman killed Thyras,” that part wasn’t what surprised him. Thyras was well known to be deficient of knowledge. “You found her, and then you let her get away?”

            “She winnowed,” Azriel informed, staring at him. Everything about him quieter than it normally was. Something had happened that he wasn’t yet privy too. Something that they were going to tell him shortly, it seemed. “I don’t know how. . .”

            “You don’t know how to winnow, Az? Nonsense, I’ve seen you do it.”

            “She had your eyes.”

            Rhys’s brows furrowed. “What?”

            “She looked familiar, but it can’t be,” Cassian argued, looking like he had been arguing with Azriel the entire way back. “Don’t do this.”

            “It was her, she recognized our names.”

            “We’re well known! You don’t get called Lord of Bloodshed without people knowing your name!”

            “Tell me already!” Rhys snapped, “before I lose my patience!”

            “It was your sister,” Azriel said, mind opening, expelling an image so clearly it was a slap to the face for Rhys.

            Straight black hair down to her back. Ears pointed and adorned with jewels. Nails long and painted black, enhancing the shape of her slender fingers that confidently wrapped around dual daggers. Face as sharp as her violet gaze and outlined by countless scars. Thin, long, thick. Some raised from her face, others were flat, blending into the background of tan skin.

            Even without the eyes. Even without the face.

            The daggers.

            He had given her those daggers.

            Rhys sat back, pale, sick, haunted by memories he fought every day to suppress, and every day they lingered. Always in his mind, never providing him respite.

            “It can’t be,” he whispered, hands in his hair.

            Distantly, he heard Cassian snap, “I told you. You’ve done this to him for nothing!”

            “It’s her,” Rhys said, nodding, eyes wide. Violet eyes as large as the bright full moon.

            Cassian blinked, staring at him. “She died, Rhys. Tamlin,” he spat the name, “And his filthy family killed her and sent you the evidence.”

            “I gave her those daggers,” Rhys answered quietly. “They’re charmed. They can never leave her.” He looked up, locking on Azriel, heart pounding with fear and confusion and worst of all, hope. “Find her. Find Roslyn. Bring me back my sister.”

            Azriel bowed his head. “Before the week is up, my Lord,” and he disappeared into the shadows to begin his hunt.

[green-ville]

Down Came The Rain

TW: guy gets thrown out a window 

                                               Recluse Chapter 4

           Synopsis: They opened up a world of possibilities for her. Some would even say a multiverse. Miguel O’Hara thought she was an anomaly, and perhaps she was. She didn’t really care.

           They showed to her that there was a world where she had died, and her Peter Parker had lived. She was going to do whatever it took to get to that world, even if it meant teaming up with a villain that went by the name Scarlet Witch. 

 _______

           The next time she woke up, there was a man there that she didn’t know. He was large, his suit was red and blue, but the colors were darker. Another variation. Another fake.

           “You’re trouble,” he stated, arms crossed over his chest.

           Recluse flipped him off. “Didn’t ask, don’t care.”

           She unscrewed the IV, shut off the beeping IV pole, and prepared to stand.

           The man blocked her, and when she looked up, she fixed him with a glare. “Not a smart idea.”

           “Neither is it for you to stand. You lost a lot of blood. You passed out the last time you stood. Maybe stay sitting this time.”

           “I want to go home. I’ve had enough of this, whatever this even is. I don’t want to know, I just want to go home.” She stressed the last word unintentionally. She was getting emotional and she was struggling to suppress it.

           What she needed was a full out sob, hyperventilation session, and she refused to do that in front of others.

           “You can’t go home.” He stated. “Your home is gone, because you’re an anomaly. You were never supposed to become Spider Man, Peter Parker was never supposed to die, and you killing off all the villains just threw your worlds canon to the dumpster. We tried to contain it but it was unsalvageable, you messed up too much, and now it’s gone. You should be gone too, but then you made that speech about who Spider Man truly was, and Gwen got sappy and saved you.”

           Her jaw tightened, and her fists clenched around the sheets. “What did you just say?”

           For those that didn’t know; when a woman asks you to repeat yourself, run. She’s made up her mind. Your sentence has been set. There was no hope for you.

           The tall, large Spider Man didn’t seem to know this. “Your world is dead. Erased from existence. You are all that’s left. Welcome to your new home.”

~

           “I don’t know if I like Miguel talking to Recluse,” Gwen Stacy said. “He’s not the softest person to break the news.”

           Jessica Drews ate another fry. “Honey, ask yourself this; is there really a soft way to tell someone their entire world is gone and that they’re not supposed to exist?”

           Gwen guffawed. “Well there’s a lot of room to go up from there! Geez, it’s not like she wanted to be an anomaly! I watched her, remember? I was on the police force? She wasn’t a terrible leader, you know. I actually liked her.”

           “Spider Man isn’t supposed to be a Captain of the police force.”

           “But, she never posed as Spider Man. I heard her say it, she always told the bad guy that she wasn’t Spider Man. And. . .I don’t know. I guess I just have trouble with the whole killing the bad guy thing. Why does it make her an anomaly when mine died too?”

           Jessica shook her head, brown eyes sad. “Gwen, you never set out to kill anyone. And it doesn’t automatically make it non-canon to set out to kill the bad guy. A lot of Spidermen have done that, Spiderwomen too. The difference is, we always stop ourselves. We hold back. We do not kill. Sometimes they do die because we couldn’t save them, but we never actively set out to kill, and accomplished it. She did. She set out to kill, and she accomplished it. Every time.”

           “But. . .” Gwen shook her head, hating that she was going to say this. “Did you see her world? Her city? It was nice. Clean.”

           “It was,” Jessica agreed. “But her actions also brought other variants into her world. And they would’ve kept coming. More enemies until she would’ve been overwhelmed and she would’ve gone too. . .” Jessica sighed, “I’m not gonna say you did good or bad Gwen. I don’t really know myself. I don’t understand how she came to be, how Peter Parker died, how any of it happened. What was the catalyst that pushed all of this? I don’t know. What I do know is – “

           Jessica stopped talking. Gwen straightened up, and Jess followed. They both looked up together, at the side of their HQ, and saw it.

           From high above, a man had just been thrown out a window. It was unmistakably their leader, Miguel O’Hara, who had just been talking with Recluse.

           Jessica finished her sentence: “What I do know is we need to go to Recluse right now.”

           Gwen was already taking off. Jessica left her fries and threw her leg around her bike, revving her engine and speeding after her.

 ~

           It was too much, only this time, she didn’t pass out.

           He kept going. He explained the multiverse, how it was real, how there were an infinite amount of realities. There was a reality where she died and Peter Parker lived, continuing to be the hero he was supposed to be. But, there was an idiot on earth 19-9999 that messed everything up. There was a Doctor Strange that rewrote reality in order to erase the exposed identity of Spider Man, and while he amended things in the end, it still had cataclysmic repercussions.

           She asked why her Peter Parker died, and he only got madder at her. He blamed her, saying she messed with the canon. She condemned her world.

           Recluse argued that she fixed it after Peter died. It went to shit, and she cleaned it up. She took crime off the streets.

           The masked idiot only said “Spider Man doesn’t kill.”

           That was when she threw him out the window. It wasn’t as easy as picking him up without resistance and chucking him, he fought back. She webbed up his hands, his ankles, she webbed his hands to his ankles.

           It was his own fault for being so slow.

           She had grabbed him and sharp blades jutted out from his forearms. Recluse hissed, the blades slicing easy. He almost freed himself. He would’ve freed himself. She got him to the window first and chucked him through it.

           The wind blew into her as she watched him fall. “I’m not Spider Man!” She shouted, and whirled back around. Her plan was to leave, she didn’t know how, but she was going to leave.

           Her answer awaited her in the most perfect way possible. On the ground sat a watch that was not really a watch. At first, she didn’t expect it to be such an amazing escape plan for her. When she picked it up, the idea dawned on her.

           The watch showed which earth she was on. On the side, there was a dial, and as she turned it, the number turned with it.

           She kept dialing until she landed on the earth she wanted.

           When the number settled, a portal opened before her. It was comprised of several orange yellow octagonal outlines overlapping each other, getting narrower and narrower until it all meshed together. Wind blew at her again, the lights just bright enough for her to want to squint.

           Recluse had learned early on that hesitation was not the way to go. She walked forward, holding that watch, and disappeared into the portal. It shrunk behind her just as a scream reached her ears.

           It was unlike anything she had ever experienced. She had flown thanks to her powers. She had flown with Peter, before she ever got them. She preferred the latter, just holding onto him as they swung through the city. She had no power there, but she had never felt stronger.

           This was solitude again, but different. She felt strong, like she was regaining control of her life. Finally doing something for herself, going to find the man she loved. Finally fighting to no longer be alone. And she’d give it all up if that’s what it took. If there could only be one Spider, she’d give it up. He had always done it better.

           She just wanted him.

           She soared through a clear tube like thing that wasn’t really a tube, but she didn’t know how to describe it. She reached out, and her hand wasn’t stopped by anything, and yet there were octagonal points every ten feet that led her forward. It was clearly connected somehow.

           It started to widen, and she saw the end. A cabin in the woods with snow on the ground.

           She shot out of the portal and rolled across the ground hard, hitting the first wooden step that rose up to the patio. Everything ached and she could feel warmth in her stomach where the stitches had pulled. The snow froze her quick, touching her bare arms and legs, seeping through her thin hospital gown.

           Recluse stood, arms shaking as she propped herself up. Blood stained the snow from her cut hands. When she saw it, her heart clenched.

           The watch had cracked with her rough landing.

           She grabbed it, muttering “no no no no no,” and turned the dial to see if another portal would open. It sparked with electricity, numbers fighting to change but unable to. She cursed and threw it at the nearest tree, only helping it to break the rest of the way.

           Recluse didn’t know if it was karma for her actions, or just terrible timing, but then her entire body glitched. It was like she was in a video game and the game was scratched. She sputtered, going in and out of existence, curling in on herself and struggling to breathe. It was no longer than five seconds but it felt like an eternity.

           When it stopped, she sucked in a shaky, deep breath, now grateful for the snow to calm her sweating self. As she calmed down, she noticed the woman lowering down from the grey skies. She wore a grey sweater to match, front tucked into leggings. Her boots were knee high. Her reddish brown hair rested in soft waves. There was a crimson glow from her fingers that matched the pupils of her eyes.

           She set down ten feet away, staring at Recluse.

           Recluse forced herself into a stand. Her knees shook, and she pressed her hand into her stomach.

           The other woman talked first. “Who are you?” Slow, tainted with an accent. Her fingers kept moving, those crimson whisps curling off her fingers.

           “I’m not here to hurt you,” Recluse disclaimed, too tired to fight anymore. “I’m just here for Peter.”

           “Peter?” The woman repeated, eyes narrowed.

           “Peter Parker. My. . . .In another world he’s my husband. He died. And. . .And I know that probably sounds insane, in another world, but it’s true, I just saw it. I was just in this weird spider society thing, they said I killed my world, that I shouldn’t exist, but it’s not like I was given a play book on what I was supposed to do!” The tears were coming, she was going to cry. She couldn’t do that in front of a total stranger! “He died and I just wanted to avenge him because all he ever wanted to do was good, and that’s what he did. He was a hero, he didn’t deserve to die, and I tried to make the world better like he would’ve wanted, but apparently I ruined it! And now I’m told there are an infinite number of him, and I met one of them but he doesn’t know who I am. He didn’t know me, so there has to be one that does. In an infinite number, there has to be at least one that knows me and that wants me.” The tears slid down her red cheeks, her bare feet cold in the snow.

           The woman tilted her head, as if she could see into Recluse’s mind. Trying to see if she was lying or not.

           It unnerved her.

           Until she started to speak, still slow, her accent soothing. “I lost the man I loved too,” the red glow from her fingertips died. “And I lost my children next. You. . .you had a child.”

           Recluse wiped her tears, shaking softly. “He didn’t make it to second trimester. He was never really mine.”

           “I’m sorry,” the woman apologized. “I understand, I want to help.”

            Hope built. “You know where Peter is?”

           “I do, but the Peter of this world is not the one you’re looking for. I will help you find your Peter, if you help me find my children. If we work together, we can have what we once had again.”

           “How -ah!” Recluse cried out, glitching again, falling to her knees as she went in and out of existence. As some of her organs stayed, some left. As some of her limbs stayed, others left. She broke apart randomly until a red glow washed over her, and she could breathe again.

           She was on her side, limbs going weak after it.

           The woman kneeled beside her, resting her hand on her shoulder. “You need me to survive here, Sarah Parker. I will make it so you never glitch again. I will give you everything you need, I will help you find your husband. All you need to do is agree to help me get my family too.”

           Sarah blinked through the tears, body riddled with pain. “How do you know my name?” She whispered.

           The red eyed woman blinked. “As you have your powers, I have my own. Now, do you agree?”

           Sarah nodded, tears wetting her hair. She croaked out her answer for 100% certainty. “Yes. I’ll help you.”

           The woman smiled, and that red glow traveled up. It encompassed her. The woman stood, stepping back, and Sarah was picked off the ground. Her hair fell back, her spine curved, and her heart went erratic as she had no power over her body. She went from horizontal to vertical, still off the ground, the woman looking up at her.

           “Together,” she promised, “we will get out families back.”

           That red blinded her suddenly and a powerful wind slammed into her. Her arms and legs spread out, blown back, and her hospital gown tightened to her body. The fabric crawled down her limbs until it was full length. Her hair braided tightly, a mask fitting over her face, a hood appearing over that. She couldn’t see half of what was happening until that red glow died and she was set back down, safely on the ground.

           No longer in a hospital gown.

           She could feel the suit beneath, stretching from her fingertips to her toes. Skintight but breathable. Rippled with that spiderweb pattern Peter had geeked out about, only hers wasn’t the correct colors. The spiderweb pattern was red, the base of the suit black. Her mask was the same way, the large black eyes allowing her a good field of view.

           Her hooded cloak was black, the bottom brushing the snow covered ground.                        

           The woman continued, grinning, a spark in her brown eyes. “We will be victorious. Recluse,” her own title sent a chill down her spine from the way the woman said it. “And the Scarlet Witch.”

[green-ville]

Crawled Up the Water Spout

 TW: descriptions of vi0lence, bl00d.

                                             Recluse Chapter 3

           Synopsis: They opened up a world of possibilities for her. Some would even say a multiverse. Miguel O’Hara thought she was an anomaly, and perhaps she was. She didn’t really care.

           They showed to her that there was a world where she had died, and her Peter Parker had lived. She was going to do whatever it took to get to the world, even if it meant teaming up with a villain that went by the name Scarlet Witch. 

           __________

             Her reflexes were quicker than how she acted. It was the shock that did her in. The possible hope. Green Goblin was back from the dead, did that mean her Peter could be as well?

           She had to learn, and that’s why when her bedroom wall blew up, she only covered herself instead of attacking. With her head covered she didn’t get hit there, but there had to have been a rib broken. At least one.

           He glided into her room as she propped herself up, now covered in dust and smoke. He jumped from his glider and there was shock again.

           This. . .This wasn’t the Green Goblin. The man with the green skin and long ears. With the horrible purple gnome hat. With the purple pirate boots and skin tight, unarmored body suit that was cut into shorts.

           Whatever this was? This was the Green Goblin being forced to modernize, almost.

           An armored suit of all green. With a 360 coverage mask and large eyes of glowing yellow. The mask had fangs, it had unnecessarily big ears designed into the side. It had abs imbedded into the abdominal armor.

           This was not the Green Goblin.

           “Who are you?” She asked, groggy, disoriented. Confused. Wondering if this was even real.

           The masked man jumped into a crouch right in front of her. “What, little Spider Man hasn’t told you all about me? I’m heartbroken.” He rested a hand over his heart. “I’ll get over it. Upsy daisy,” he grabbed her by the hair and pulled her up. She stumbled, crying out, bricks falling off her. “We’ll have plenty of time to learn about each other on the flight.”

           And she went along, not putting up any resistance as he forced her onto the glider, and shot them out of her blown up bedroom.

           “Spider Man won’t come,” she warned, maintaining her crouched balance with ease. He didn’t seem to process how easy she was doing it. At every sharp turn, her feet and right hand remained planted to the sharp metal of the glider. She never wavered.

           His head whipped down, glowing eyes burning. “You think you can protect him from me? You think this is my first rodeo? No. I studied him. I learned his secrets, and now,” he cackled, slow, drawn out, growing in volume. “Now, I’ve found his most prized secret! His wife! He will come, you can’t hide it, and I will kill him for killing my father.”

           She had been right. This wasn’t the Green Goblin. This was his son, Harry Osborne.

           Peter had been friends with him in high school. They grew apart when Harry went abroad to a boarding school, a punishment from his father.

           “You knew Peter,” she said as they flew towards the water line, weaving above the racing cars down below. Shouts sounded as they were spotted. They were more panicked than she was. “Do you really think he could kill your father?”

           They began to ascend, slipping away from the traffic and scaling 8 stories high without trouble. The wind blew her hair back, and at 15 stories she chilled.

           “He did,” Harry spat behind the mask. “I thought he was my friend, he pretended to be my friend! All this time he’s been pretending to be my friend!  I learned about my father’s death on the NEWSPAPERS!” He shouted. “Just like I learned about his secret identity from the newspapers. I never liked Mysterio much until he exposed him, and now, now I am eternally grateful for him showing me what the Spider Man really is. He’s a filthy liar, and you’re no better.”

           . . .

           That wasn’t adding up.

           Peter died first. She killed Green Goblin after him. And who the hell was Mysterio?

           Discretely, she grabbed a pumpkin bomb from him. It was his own stupid fault for keeping his stash right at head height.

           They swept high above a clock tower, sitting stationary in the air. The setting sun highlighted him in gold and cast her in his shadow.

           “Harry,” she began, but was cut off when his gloved hand grabbed at her throat. She held his wrist as he yanked her up, with more strength than he should’ve had. Her feet dangled freely, lungs receiving a restricted airflow. Behind her, she hid the bomb.

           His head tilted. “No. No more lies. No more waiting around. Peter will know what I felt when I learned of his death. He will be too late, just like I was.” His left hand thrusted forward, and she realized too late what was in it. It was her own fault for thinking she could be the only one hiding something behind her back. “For good measure,” he promised with that breathy laugh in his voice.

           Sharp metal pierced through her stomach, and her senses cleared, going haywire. Her pupils blew, her mouth dried, and her entire body riddled with tingles.

           The Green Goblin dropped her.

           He watched. Carefully, as if trying to memorize every detail of her fall. She hoped this image would stay with him for the remainder of his life. When she activated the bomb. When she threw it up, her aim perfect. Precise. Practiced.

           When she shot her spider webs at the bomb, ensuring that it stuck to the underside of his glider. She heard the metal thunk. She heard the splack! of her webs sealing it into place.

           And while she couldn’t see the look on his face, she did imagine it. At least she got to watch the bomb detonate, blowing him out of the sky. She almost thought she got a glimpse of its warmth before she crashed into the clocktowers glass dome –

           No. She didn’t crash into it yet. Something else – someone else crashed into her. They crashed into the glass dome together, the body encompassing her and protecting her from the glass. A vented metal walkway stopped them from traveling all the way down, and that’s where they landed, her on him.

           He breathed hard. “Are you okay?”

           No. She was anything but okay. She was the furthest from okay. She hadn’t heard that voice in five months. She didn’t think she’d ever hear that voice again.

           She leaned her head back, tears in her eyes, and stared into the masked face of her husband. “Peter?” She whispered, voice shaking, disbelief wracking her with shakes.

           A crawl ran up her spine.

           “Yeah,” he responded with a weight of confusion. “How did you – “

           She turned away and spotted the blinking pumpkin bomb – something that once again did not look how her original Goblin designed it, or the one she had just killed designed. This one had the fragility of fall décor, a glass shell with the green stem blinking.

           “NO!” She shouted, straightening her wrist, flexing it, shooting her web –

           The web slapped into it right as it exploded, and the warmth of the flame was a lot closer as they rolled off the vented walkway, and fell to a hunk of metal clockware below. This time, it was her back that took the hit and the metal imbedded into her stomach shifted, pulling a gasp from her.

           Peter pushed off of her, seeing the wound, spotting someone below. “Stay here! I’ll handle this.”

           “PETER!” She cried, reaching for him as he jumped down below. She started to turn towards him, but didn’t even get the chance to fully turn. Pain, and commotion, stopped her.

           Peter and another Green Goblin shot towards the skies.

           A white spider girl with ballet like slippers launched up, as if following pursuit, but she landed right beside Recluse, kneeling down right over her. If that wasn’t concerning enough, a hooded woman with the same spider powers she had, then the second figure that shot after Peter certainly was. And this one wore a mechanical suit, with metal spider legs protruding from the back.

           The woman beside her saw the metal and her hands didn’t seem to know where to go. “Okay, wow, big piece. Uh – “

           “Peter,” she whispered, tears slipping from the corner of her eyes. “Help him, please.”

           “Peter’s going to help him – uh, not that Peter. A different Peter, that dude that just went past us. You need medical attention.” She wore a futuristic watch on her wrist, and raised it to speak. “Call Jess.”

           A hologram appeared. There was an explosion in the distance, and she once again saw fire high above the clock tower.

           The hologram had a large afro, and wore yellow sunglasses in the same shape as white spider woman’s eye pieces. Only the latter was white interior with a pink outline. Entirely different aesthetics, and yet, the chill she got with her Peter, she got around both women.

           “How’s it going Gwen?”

           “Uh, okay, you know that thing that happened to Miguel? Yeah, definitely happening here.”

           “WHAT?” It was half a snap and half a shocked exclamation. “You said everything was fine!”

           “I know and I thought it was, but then I found the black hole in the laboratory where my Doc Ock died, and then a different Green Goblin turned up, nearly killed Recluse, she’s bleeding out right now, a different Spider Man showed up, now my Peter and different Peter are fighting a third Green Goblin –“

           “GWEN!” The woman snapped, now a full snap instead of with an element of shock.

           “I know I’m sorry but I could totally use some help right now!”

           “I’ll send in the team to try and salvage it.”

           “And send a medic too!”

           “Gwen.” The tone turned serious. “You know what we talked about.”

           Recluse, without having a clue as to what was going on, knew it was about her. It told her everything she needed to know about these two people. They weren’t like her Peter, who had never stopped trying to save people. Good guys, strangers, even the villains that tried to kill him. He never stopped trying to save them, and these people were contemplating whether to help her.

           If they were in a disagreement about it, then let her be the deciding factor. She didn’t want their help.

           She stabilized the piece of metal with two webs, one on either side. She planted her hands into the large metal gear, and she forced herself to stand.

           “Hey now, woah okay! What’re you doing – “

           Recluse hit her hands away. “Get off me!” She snapped. “I don’t want your help, I don’t need your help. I don’t know what the hell you are, but get out of my city!”

           “Hey we’re just trying to help! There’s something going on that you don’t understand – “

           Recluse shoved her away again, stumbling. “I don’t care what you say. If you’re trying to be like Spiderman, then let me tell you right now that you are nothing like him. You will never be anything like him, because my Peter never second guessed helping someone. He never sat around, talked about whether someone should be saved, he went out and he did it. Now my Peter’s back, and I’m not losing him again. So get out of my way, or end up like everyone else that ever laid a hand on him.”

           She shot her webs into the skies, latched onto metal beams that previously lined the dome, and she leaned back. The webs pulled tighter, tighter. . .and a tingle ran up her spine.

           She began to shoot forward, webs carrying her, but a man slammed into her. A man of metal, with metal wings, with his face concealed behind a military grade mask, and his armor nothing more than a simple leather jacket.

           Recluse cried out, talons digging into her shoulders as Vulture plucked her from her path to help Peter. She was thrown to the side, and this time, there was no one there to help her. Her body crashed through the glass face of the clock, and she slammed right into the metal minute hand. Too much of her body curved around it, so it didn’t even stop her. Her thighs took the hit, she fell back, and then she really was falling.

           Only this time, she was unconscious.

 ~

             After spending most of her working adult life in a hospital as a bedside nurse, she recognized the sound of an IV pole. Most people thought the heart monitor was the annoying one, but the IV pole was worse. If there was air in the line, it beeped. If the bag was getting low, it beeped. If it was feeling bad, it beeped.

           Her beeping IV pole woke her up.

           She was in a hospital room, not one that she recognized. There was a large window to her right, and it exposed a world she didn’t recognize. Green grass down below, and blue skies above, but this world. . .was in the future compared to hers. Tall white skyscrapers that should have been dirty from everyday life, yet it still glistened like it was newly made. It looked like a city, yet she had never seen a city so clean before. Cars drove off the ground.

           Inside her room, she could recognize what the machines did, but compared to her hospital, it was medieval against modern day.

           There was a TV across from her playing music she didn’t recognize.

           Recluse sat upright, and winced. Her torso was bandaged. Her shoulders were bandaged. Her thighs ached, her back muscles were hot and tight. Her head pounded. She wore a hospital gown.

           First she made sure the bed alarm was shut off. It didn’t alarm when she got up. She unplugged the IV machine, and disconnected the tubing from her catheter. She found a green cap and put that on the end of the loop to keep it clean.

           Walking hurt, but she did it anyway. Outside her door was someone right about to walk into her room.

           Recluse froze, heart rate picking up in her chest. Her head stopped pounding, instead swimming with possibility like the first time she truly felt in love with him. 

           It was still the fluffy hair she remembered. He had more stubble, but it was ruggish and she thought it fit him. He was out of his suit, wearing a hospital gown just like her.

           But it was without a doubt him.

           “Peter,” she breathed, and threw her arms around his neck, pulling him down to kiss him.

           They had been married for six years. Before they had been married, they dated from high school. She had kissed him a lot in that time. After losing him, she imagined it too. Tried to retain the memory and feeling, but it had faded. 

           She remembered enough to know that this wasn’t it.

           Peter wasn’t kissing her back. His arms weren’t around her, holding her close and tight, squeezing her just how she liked. He was warm, that much stayed the same.

           She stepped back, eyebrows knit, hurt squeezing her heart.

           He held up his hands, just as confused. “I – I’m sorry, do I know you?”

           She would’ve preferred to be stabbed again. “Peter?”

           “You know my name, but I don’t know you, and after everything I was really hoping for some answers. I thought that Strange guy was going to send me home, but I never got back. Then I saw Goblin with you, and you looked like you needed help, but then you had powers, so you’ve gotta be another Spider Man, right? Or Spider Woman? I know there are others out there. Is that how you know my name?”

           This was worse than she had ever thought possible, and she truly was stupid for having believed her Peter could come back.

           If there were new Green Goblins popping out, and a new Vulture if she recalled correctly, then having a new, different, Peter Parker wasn’t out of the question.

           This wasn’t hers. Hers was still dead.

           It was too much to handle.

           Her hands were shaking as she pushed the fake Peter away. Bare feet walked across the ground, hospital gown bringing a draft up.

           “Hey! Where’re you going?!”

           Fake Peter caught up to her, his gait unaltered whereas hers was rushed.

           “Finding out answers,” Recluse snapped. “I want to know where I am, how I got here, where the hell those imposters came from, and I want to know now!”

           “It’s some kind of spider society if that helps! There’s tons of us.”

           They got far enough down the hallway to find the nursing station. There was a Spider Man in a red and blue scrubs, still wearing his mask to hide his identity. “You’re not supposed to be out of bed!” He exclaimed, spotting her.

           “Consider this leaving against medical advice,” she snapped, not stopping.

           He called after her, “you have to fill out the paperwork then!”

           She shoved the doors open and stopped right there. She had been expecting a second hallway that led to an elevator for them to go down. She had not been expecting whatever the hell this was.

           The fake Peter beside her smiled and that hurt even more. “Welcome to the lobby.”

           It was huge. Another skyscraper, and this was packed with people just like the fake Peter. All of them were wearing their suits, crawling along ceilings, swinging to where they needed to go. She saw a dinosaur in the famous red and blue. No one screamed at the sight of it, the animal apparently belonging.

           Her fingers were tingling, and not in that sense she got before danger hit. This tingling was pins and needles, and it crawled up her hands.

           She didn’t even realize she was walking forward until she hit the railing. As far as she could see, web shooters littered the area.

           It was like he said: a spider society.

           “I know,” he said, “It’s a lot to take in.”

           Her fingers were stuck in place. Her arms were locking up.

           “It’s not a lot,” Recluse whispered, “It’s too much.”

           The world went black and her body went slack.

[green-ville]

The Itsy Bitsy Spider

                                           Recluse Chapter 2 

TW: De@th. Bl00d. Decent amount of description. Light talk of a miscarriage.  

           Synopsis: Miguel O’Hara thought she was an anomaly. An accident. A mistake. That she shouldn’t exist. Really, it was his fault for opening up the other worlds of possibilities for her. It was his actions that showed her the multiverse. The endless possibilities at the turn of a watch.

           She may not have had the same story, but she was not Spiderman. She had said it since day one. Spiderman is dead, and his enemies now got her instead.

           She was Recluse. She would not let Spiderman’s death go unavenged.

______

             Black hair that she let loose after a long day of work swayed back and forth. It was wavy from the tight braid. She was borrowing a well worn sweater. It didn’t drown her, because despite his muscular nature, Peter had a slight frame. She wore sweatpants that she synched at the waist to give her some semblance of a shape.

           Soft music played throughout the apartment, emitting from the tv that gave a warm glow of life. As she cooked dinner, she moved her hips to the music, quietly singing to herself.

           Tapping came from her living room window and the figure must have been used to it at this point, because there was no startled movement. There was a calm turn, a smile, and a distinct fall of the smile.

           Now there was a startled, sudden movement. She ran across the living room, shoving open the window that had smeared blood on it.

           “Pete? Oh my God Pete, what happened?!”

           She grabbed him under the arms, helped him in, but she was expecting more aid from him than she got. He weakly kicked to clear the window, but he didn’t find his footing and she crumbled under him. They crashed to the ground, him on top, her still holding him.

           His eyelids fluttered and she held his face, directing it to look at her.

           “Pete, what happened?!”

           His lips were pale, cracked. Blood soaked through his red and blue suit, sticking it to his frame even tighter than it already did. She pulled off her sweater, exposing a tank top beneath, and pressed it against his stomach. He winced, face pinching.

           “I’m fine babe, fine. Just need to catch my breath is all,” he croaked out. She held his face to ensure he was looking towards her, and yet his eyes traveled. Constantly steering towards the side. Never landing on her face. “Kingpin really packs a punch.”

           “You need the hospital, this,” she assessed what she could, and that was solely how much blood seeped out. It chilled her pants, soaking them. “Pete you need the hospital.”

           “Nah nah, I’ll be fine, I promise,” he said. “Spiderman always gets back up.”

           She brushed the dirty, sweaty hair out of his face. Her fingers left a blood stain in their tracks. “Tell me what happened. Keep talking to me Pete.”

           She called 911 while he struggled to remember.

           “It was. . .there was a rumor. . . .and I found it. . .”

           She told the police there was an injured man that needed the ambulance.

            He continued, voice quiet, getting softer. “Got him. Outside. Get him. Please babe.”

           She carefully set him to the ground, laying him flat. He winced and groaned. She told the police their apartment address and stuck her head outside the window. She found a small glass cage. She picked it up and found a spider inside.

           She kneeled beside Pete, returning pressure to stop the bleeding on his abdomen.

           “Keep him safe,” Pete whispered, eyes shut. Hand scrambling for hers, and she grabbed him first. Held him tight, her knuckles pale. He was ice cold. “It’s me. Please babe.”

           “No one is getting it,” she promised. “I thought the spider that bit you died.”

           “They recreated it. . .only one survived. They. . .they had my blood. Venom. . . .Prowler. . . .Vulture. . . all there. . . .Tried to stop me. . . .did a good job.”

           “Stay with me Pete.”

           “Don’t let them get it.”

           “Promise me.”

           “I promise,” she sword, tears in her eyes.

           “No. . .no promise. The world. . .the world needs Spiderman. . .promise me.”

           “Help is on the way. Just stay with me Pete, keep talking.”

           And despite her having every intention of keeping her promises, Peter Parker did not keep his to her. It was the first promise he broke to her.

           Spiderman did not get back up.

           The ambulance arrived and carted off a man in regular clothes, not a red and blue uniform. They put him on a stretcher, she was with him the entire time but he wasn’t with her. He was unconscious now. They hooked up an IV and started the fluids stat. They gauzed up his torso to slow the bleeding. At the hospital another IV was started for blood.

           His blood pressure was low. His heart rate erratic. They put an oxygen mask on him to help his low pulse ox.

           They were going to stitch him up bedside, but then they realized his spine was fractured. His left tibia was shattered, and his left femur was closed, but compounded. His skull had a small depression.

           Fluid started to seep through his nose. It was clear and she knew that was bad. Clear fluid through the nose was a notorious sign of a cerebrospinal fluid leak.

           He went to surgery and it was after 3 o’clock when they finally returned. She hadn’t fallen asleep, she just waited, staring at the door until it opened again.

           He looked better. He really did. Pale, but not shaking anymore. They were giving him a medication to drain the fluid from his brain, likely Mannitol. His blood pressure had improved with the fluids and blood. His heart rate was stable. He was heavily bandaged. His entire leg was restricted, elevated and in a traction device to keep it in-line. His torso was stitched and bandaged. His neck was in a collar to keep his spine straight.

           But he didn’t look like he was in pain anymore.

           Holding his hand, she finally fell asleep right beside him.

           That was how she stayed. Every day she went home once, never gone for more than forty minutes. She changed clothes. She made sure the spider was alive. She cleaned up. She returned to Peter’s side.

           On the sixth day she brought the spider to the hospital. She hid it, snuck it inside, and she closed the door to the hospital room. Her palms were sweaty as she opened up the cage and spilled the spider onto Peter’s chest.

           She glared at it. “You did this to him, you fix him.”

           The spider stared at her, legs spread out, black eyes empty.

           “Fix. Him.” She hissed. “Bite him again to give him extra strength. Use your bite to accelerate his healing. I don’t care, just fix him.”

           But still, the spider did nothing.

           Her eyes burned. “He’s my family. Please. The world needs him. I. . .I need him.”

           She was talking to a spider. It would never understand. The tears spilled and she fell to her knees in front of the bed, crying with her head buried into the mattress. She begged Peter to wake up. To stop sleeping and wake up. They couldn’t get through this if he didn’t wake up. They couldn’t be a team if he didn’t wake up.

           When they said ‘Till death do we part’ she hadn’t meant for it to be so soon. She expected old age. Surrounded by children and grandchildren. She expected beds in the same room at a long term care facility. She expected passing within minutes of each other because they loved each other too much to be apart for too long.

           There was a nip on her ring finger. She raised her head, eyeline with the spider, and watched as it stumbled to the side, silent across the white sheet. It tilted, and rested upside down, legs curled up.

           Heart beating slowly, a chill washing through her, she turned to look at her fingertips. It wasn’t just the redness of her eyes washing the world in that horrible color. There were two red dots on the tip of her ring finger.

           A bite mark.

           The heart monitor went flat. If she had been paying attention she would have noticed the decline in vitals. It dropped the rest of the way, until there was no heart activity.

           She tensed, mouth dropping. “No. NO! DOCTOR! RAPID! CALL A RAPID!”

           She had already started the compressions when they arrived. They tried to get her away but she wasn’t moving. Instead someone took over with the airway, pushing air into his lungs when the thirty compressions were over. They got the AED ready, setting up the patches around her deep compressions.

           “CLEAR.” They all backed away, including her. “SHOCK.”

           His body jolted off the bed. The AED began to charge again and she returned to compressions until they repeated the process. Clear. Shock. CPR. Clear. Shock. CPR.

           8 minutes went by.

           The time was called.

           Spiderman was dead.

           Peter Parker was dead.

           Her husband, her family, was dead.

 ~

           The door into the dark apartment opened. A dark figure silently swept inside. The door shut, was locked, and the light to the kitchen was turned on. It was growing darker, it would need to be changed. Another thing to add to her list.

           She removed her hood, and hung it on a coat rack. Her braided hair rested over her shoulder.

           Her chest holster, welding her guns, was shrugged off and set beside her cape.

           The lower face mask rested on the countertop.

           A bold move, you’d think, walking with all that directly into your apartment complex where anyone could see you. Not only see you, but report you to a crime lord trying to take power. But she had her ways of maneuvering unnoticed.

           The door to her room was half closed and behind it, she changed. When the light flickered on, an unrecognizable woman was sitting on a perfect bed. Perfect in the sense that it looked like it was made for show, and not something that was, or would ever be, slept in.

           The room wasn’t much different. Surfaces were clean. Walls were empty. The dresser had no personality to it. Only the bedside table had personal items on it; two pictures angled towards the bed.

           One was a fuzzy black and white picture. To the untrained eye it looked like nothing special, but she had stared at it enough to know. Or maybe her pain had drafted something that wasn’t there. It was hard to tell at this point.

           Peter always said he could see their baby boy, and he’d trace his fingers right over where he thought the boy was.

           A baby boy that would never be.

           The second picture was a wedding picture. She was all dolled up. Her old profession never allowed her to wear fake nails, but for the day, she had. Red nails, and on her ring finger, which was newly adorned with a wedding band, that fingernail was blue with a little spider on it.

           Peter held her close in that picture, smiling down at her, glowing in his own right. She remembered the look in his eyes and she knew they would make it through anything.

           She thought they would make it through anything.

           They made it through a miscarriage. They mourned. They healed. They got to the point of trying again.

           Five months ago he died.

           Five months ago she became Recluse. She healed the city that raged with his absence. She killed every villain that ever laid a hand on him.

           As a nurse, she practiced under the belief that no matter what the person in front of her had done, she would do her best to stabilize, to heal, to care for them. That part of her seemed like a different person. She thought that part of her had died with her husband.

           And yet, sitting in what was once a shared room, she contemplated returning to that person. Losing the negative outlook on life, where everyone was guilty until proven otherwise. If they were given that chance to prove otherwise, that is.

           Could she do it? She contemplated. Hang up the cape and mask for good, change it out for scrubs and a painted smile, and return to a life entirely different way than this one. Saving instead of killing. Healing instead of hunting. Listening instead of ordering.

           She looked at her ring finger, which had the engagement ring and the wedding band. She rarely took either off. On that finger was a little tattoo of a spider weaving its string, which crawled down to her rings. She got it after they were married so she always had him with her.

          He wouldn’t want her to be like this. 

           Perhaps she could have listened to her better side, the old side that rarely popped out, if her back didn’t straighten, an itch crawling up her spine, the hairs on her covered arms raising. She stood, whirling, just in time for a metal ball to crack through her bedroom window and land on her bed. It was orange and green, and several glowing dots flashed intermittently. Some might even say it resembled a pumpkin.

           She grabbed it and threw. It blew up at her window, and harms radius hit her with the heat of a close range bomb. She flew back and slammed into her wall as the sound of a madman’s laugh reached her ears, a sound that could only be Green Goblin.

           A villain she killed two months ago.

[green-ville]

Unravel

TW: Violence. G*nfire. G*n related de@th.

             Synopsis: Miguel O’Hara thought she was an anomaly. An accident. A mistake. That she shouldn’t exist. Really, it was his fault for opening up the other worlds of possibilities for her. It was his actions that showed her the multiverse. The endless possibilities at the turn of a watch.

           She may not have had the same story, but she was not Spiderman. She had said it since day one. Spiderman is dead, and his enemies now get her instead.

           She was Recluse. She would not let Spiderman’s death go unavenged.

 Chapter 1:

----------------

             The city walked below. Hues of teal green and ochre blended together to illuminate the night life. The party goers, the party leavers, the quiet couples having dinner, the friend groups that met up once in a blue moon. The night shift rushing to work.

           The sky was clouded over. It was always dark now, even during the day. Surely that was a sign of the times.

           Down below, a hooded figure ran. A helpless victim screamed over a lost possession.

           Several blocks away, one drivers mistake led to a car pile-up. Ambulances blared towards the scene. Blue and red mixed in with the teal and ochre, sirens singing their cry.

           A different street. A gunshot rang out.

           Always something.

           The city had fallen, the residents succumbing to their intrusive thoughts.

           What if I killed this man? No one was going to stop me. Not with Kingpin ruling.

           As long as it’s not Kingpins bank, he won’t care if I rob this one.

           This old lady doesn’t have long to live anyway. I need the money more than her.

           There’s nothing left to live for. If I crash at this speed, I’ll have peace right away.

           That was the problem with intrusive thoughts. They were supposed to stay intrusive. When they became extrusive. . .

           A figure swept down from above.

           The hooded criminal running with stolen goods fell to the ground, ankles wrapped up in spider webs. He knocked himself out falling, his landing hard, his forehead smacking concrete.

           Pedestrians looked up and found no one.

           A different street.

           The pile up. Five cars. A figure landed on the top car with the sound of a gentle thud. Gas trickled from that car all the way down. The smell of it almost overpowered the stench of failure and crime. Not all the way.

           The figure crouched down and ripped off the car door, throwing it to the side. It skidded on the sidewalk, missing a pedestrian, but centimeters from cutting them with its sharp metal. The figure reached down, yanked a person out. With their left hand they flicked their wrist to a nearby building. A spiderweb shot out at the action and splattered on a building wall, and they connected the opposite end to the person, letting the web yank them away.

           They kicked the top car down, it rolled onto the concrete, crunching more and more on the journey. It settled as two more people were swinging to the sidelines, a spider web taking them to safety.

           Six people in total rescued, two children. Those were the living. The causer of the accident was dead. The first person to hit them was dead. They were set to the side, a safe distance away that when the gasoline that had already leaked hit the small engine fire and everything blew up, they weren’t harmed any further.

           The figure vanished with that ball of fire and the next time they landed it was in front of the figure that had shot the gun. The gunman didn’t wear a mask, didn’t conceal his identity by any means, and he certainly did not run in panic.

           No. His father would get him out of anything he did.

           When the figure dropped in front of him, he stopped.

           He grinned. “Busy night, Spiderman?”

           The figure raised a gun and shot him point black. His head knocked back first. His arms raising up as the momentum drove him back. He hit the ground with a thud, eyes shut.

           “Spiderman is dead,” the figure said. Deep voice. Emotionless. Flat. “You get me. As will your father, Richard Fisk.”

           The figure re-holstered the gun. A piece of paper appeared in their hand and they tossed it as they shot into the sky, web sweeping them away. The piece of paper floated back and forth, back and forth. . .it set gently on the dead man’s chest.

           It read: To Mr. Pin. Do I have your attention now?

 ~

           “That spider fiend finally disappears and crime rages. I’ll admit when I’m wrong, maybe the maniac did some good. But this lunatic?” James Jonah Jameson shouted at the camera. “Killing off Kingpin’s biggest allies and sending him into a rage? Killing off his son in the middle of a street, with a gun no less, like a common criminal? That’s what they are! They’re a criminal! A menace to society that doesn’t need any more menacing!”

           The figure stared at the large billboard that played the news. They stood on the edge of a building, close enough where a sane person would immediately lose their balance and fall. They were as still as the dead.

           The wind breezed past lightly, seeping around their uniform.

           Their uniform. Yes. It was what they called it. Others called it a costume. A mask to hide behind. They weren’t wrong with that one, it was a mask. She just wasn’t hiding.

           Her uniform bore the resemblance to Spiderman’s in design and detail, but the color was all black. Her cape was purple, the same shade and shape as the Prowlers cape. Almost the exact same thing. . .The mask was eerily similar to what the Vulture had worn. Smaller, no doubt. The differences subtle. . .but the resemblance was uncanny.

           Her arms spread out, a hug to the world. Her head raised to the dark sky, face hidden behind the stolen mask and stolen hooded cape. She tilted forward slowly, breaching the point where sane, healthy people began to spiral, windmill their arms, scream – she kicked off the last second, and the push was enough to have her diving away from the building.

           The wind soared past, blowing her hood back, but her mask remained in place. Revealing green eyes. Revealing black hair tightly braided back.

           A web shot out from her wrist, latching onto the part of the ceiling she kicked off from. It pulled on her and she was no longer going away from the building, but towards it again,

           Her reflection in the windows grew larger. She saw her target. The gunfire from the hired goons started. Her thumb pressed a concealed clicker and the windows blew as her distraction, a rain of glass blowing in and out.

           She detached from her web, soared through the fire and smoke and glass, and webs shot in every direction. Two men were yanked together, their collision would knock them out. One guard had their gun pulled away and someone else, in an attempt to shoot her, shot them instead. She shot the shooter back.

           One foot landed on the large desk of the man she sought. Her other foot slammed into the large man’s shoulder, shoving him back into the wall. It wasn’t a hard landing, she was perfectly still, entirely in control.

           She held a gun to his head.

           “If it isn’t the itsy bitsy spider.” The Kingpin greeted, staring at her, not the barrel to his forehead. “What can I do for you?”

           It was the confidence that she wasn’t going to shoot. That he could make her an offer so amazing that she put the gun away and fell under his service. It was cockiness that he could talk his way out of anything, or at least strike enough fear into them that they crumbled and he could flip the tables.

           That didn’t happen.

           The bang rang out and his mass tilted back. He hit the wall, there was a narrow splatter of crimson on the rich wooden walls.

           The gun tucked away into her chest holster, hidden beneath the stolen cape.

           “I’m taking over now,” she promised, “and I will wash away everything you did.”

 ~

           “Miguel.” The voice buzzed through the air, emitting from the watch he wore around his wrist.

           He unfolded his arms and the short hologram appeared, displaying one of their many Spiderman allies. If he remembered correctly, this one was on Earth 14-324 for assessment.

           “Report?”

           The man cleared his throat. “We have a situation, requesting back up.”

           “What’s the situation?”

           “Well, uh. . .the Spiderman of Earth 14-324 is dead. There’s someone in charge, and from what I know of, they’ve already killed Kingpin, Vulture, Venom, and Prowler. They’re ruling the city as Captain of the police force.”

           What?

           “What do you know about them?”

           “They’re new, only been around a few months. Spiderman died just before – “

           “How?”

           “Don’t know. There’s rumor he’s only missing, not dead, but I found the grave.”

           “And this is when this new person came about?”

           “Appears to be that way. The news reports start talking about them after they stop talking about Spiderman, and it’s all the same. Talking about who they’ve taken down. Three months back they became Police Captain.”

           “What do you know about them? Identity? Powers? We only deal with Spidermen.”

           “But, they are. I’ve seen them in action. Spiderwebs. Spideysense. The strength and agility. Only they don’t go by Spiderman, they go by Recluse.”

           Miguel rolled his eyes. “I’ll send in Gwen to get into the force and act as our inside man. Find out what you can about who they actually are, name, residence, family. We need to know it all.”

           “Yes sir.”

           The hologram shrunk into nonexistence and Miguel turned back to his monitors. His gaze narrowed.

           “Pull up Earth 14-432,” he ordered. “And show me the Recluse.”

           An image pulled up right away and the hairs on his arms raised at the newspaper image. He got his first good luck at the masked figure and he learned a lot right away.

           The Prowlers hood hid their identity, clouding them in darkness. What part of their face wasn’t shrouded was hid behind Vulture’s respirator. It was a close picture, like they had posed. Staring down the camera, wanting the world to know who they were.

           Miguel studied the screen, speaking as if someone was nearby. “Lyla, alert Gwen Stacey to rendezvous with Spiderman on Earth 14-432 for observation and report of the figure named Recluse. High priority.”

           A figure popped into existence on top the computer screen, phone in her hands. “You sound so official. You really need to learn to relax more.”

           “I’d relax more if I knew how this anomaly came to be, and how much of a threat they pose,” Miguel answered, raising his hand, palm to the screens, and beginning to swipe through the articles.

           And there were many articles.

[green-ville]

The Fall of Icarus (6)

         Synopsis: The story of Icarus was of a little boy, trapped in a prison, who tried to escape and died in the process. Trapped in the earth for so long he flew high into the sky, his wings melting away and sending him to his watery grave.

        It was a terrible callsign to give to an aviator. 

______

Chapter 6: Mom?

             “Icarus!”

           Wake up. Wake up. Open your eyes.

           “Icarus, you here?!”

           So tired. Hit the snooze, you’ve earned it.

           “Icarus – shit!”

           Hands grabbed her and common sense kicked in. Don’t sleep, wake up! Her eyes burst open just as Rooster knelt down in front of her, grabbing her shoulders, shaking her in panic. When she responded by looking at him, relief consumed him.

           “Shit, you scared me.”

           “Yeah,” she was sluggish. “Hey buddy. Everything’s gone to shit.”

           His cheeks were flushed, then he found her leg and his shoulders sagged. “You’re. . .your leg.”

           “It’s just a scratch.” A big fucking scratch.

           “What’re we gonna do Icarus. We gotta mission to finish.”

           “It’s becoming a bit of a cluster fuck, innit?”

           “I’ve been in worse.”

           Icarus gave Rooster a look.

           Rooster amended. “I have not been in worse, I was trying to sound optimistic. But c’mon now, let’s get you up, and let’s do whatever it is this mission is so we can try to MacGyver our way out of this.”

           “Can’t believe you risked your stupid life over a mission you don’t even know.”

           “I risked my stupid life because you risked your stupid life. By the way, don’t risk your stupid life again. Hangman gave me strict orders that you come home.”

           “Hangman needs to mind his own business.” Kara was smiling. It could be the blood loss.

           Rooster rolled his eyes. “Yeah yeah, I can see you’re happy.”

           “You know the saying,” Icarus said, accepting his arm beneath her shoulders to help her stand. Her blood pressure dropped, and she noticed the stain of blood that formed beneath where her head and leg had been. Not good. “Happy wife, happy life.”

           Rooster looked down at her. “You didn’t.”

           “I did.”

           “Did you think this through?”

           “You sound like my mother.”

           “Your mother sounds like a wise women for questioning impromptu elopement.”

           “My mother got stranded in a foreign country, spying on a uranium enrichment site,” Icarus corrected, wincing several times. “And she actually doesn’t know so if you could not mention it to her when we pick her up, that’d be great.”

           “. . .What now?”

           “Welcome to the mission Rooster. Objective: get my mother home.”

             _

           “This is insane.”

           “No one invited you.”

           Rooster gave her a look.

           “But I’m very grateful you showed up.”

           “You can hardly walk, are you sure we can pull this off?”

           “It’s either we pull this off, or we die here,” Kara stated, and shoved off the ground, digging her staff into snow to help her stand. “Now get off your ass and lets go,” she said, fighting through the nausea.

           Rooster chased behind her, chortling when he slipped on an icy patch but managing to catch himself. “We’re just gonna walk right in?” He repeated.

           “First rule of breaking in. Pretend you belong. Second rule of breaking in, always have a gun.” Third rule: always carry a spare gun and more ammo than necessary.

           “Why do you have a gun?”

           “Because I’m in enemy fucking territory numbnuts! How the hell does Nat put up with you?”

           “How does Hangman put up with you?” Rooster fired right back as they moved from concrete to cratered asphalt. “I’ve only ever seen you in two moods, sad or violent. That’s not a good combination.”

           Men ran around the cratered asphalt, smoke still rising from their tomahawks. It was loud with the sounds of running and shouting, orders being thrown left and right. It left them with a clear path to the building she needed to get into.

           “Like you don’t have depression too!”

           “No!” He answered. “I don’t!”

           “If you fly long enough, it’ll happen.”

           “That’s not the saying! It’s if you live long enough, you’ll lose a wingman!”

           “Tomato tomato,” Kara answered, and they arrived. From the outside, it certainly didn’t look like anything special, but since it required what appeared to be biotech in order to get in, she assumed this was the correct spot. “There’s a spare in my back holster Rooster. Take it.”

           “A spare?”

           She nodded. “Pick up the back of my jacket, you see it?”

           “Got it.” He set the jacket back down, sealing off the cold air. It didn’t stop the chill that had come in.

           “Okay, now I’m going to unlock the door, you’re going to open it, and I’ll lead, okay?”

           He turned off the safety, stoic. Prepared, leaning up against the wall with a slight crouch, ready to snatch the door and commit.

           Kara nodded back, and took aim. Three shots later, the door gave way. Rooster grabbed it, yanked it open, and Kara hobbled inside, taking fire immediately. She wasn’t aiming to kill, just disarm. A shot to the shoulder, to the leg. Where the padding wasn’t, and where it would make it hard to shoot back or chase after.

           From behind her, Rooster shot over her shoulder, covering her left while she took down the four on the right.

           They were efficient. The room was clear. . .

           One person left. Hair the same shade of red as Kara’s. Eyes the same shade of blue. She had more freckles because she never put sunscreen on, but they both had a decent amount. She wore a white lab coat and her hands were raised.

           Kara put her hand in front of Rooster, stopping him from shooting.

           “Kara?” Her mom asked, surprised.

           It popped out before she could stop it. “I’m married.”

           Damnit.

           Surprise slapped again.

           Then anger, when she glared at Rooster. “And you didn’t think to ask for my permission?”

           “I didn’t marry her!”

           “No, not him!”

           “Well then who!”

           “Now is not the time ladies,” Rooster intervened. “We are still in enemy territory!”

           “Say it a bit fucking louder Rooster, I don’t think Canada heard you!”

           “Honey don’t swear!” Her mom scolded. “And what happened to your leg! There’s something sticking out of it! You need medical attention!”

           Rooster was going to have an aneurysm. “Wonderful idea Ms. Maro. Why don’t we get out of here first though so after they fix her leg, they don’t immediately put us in prison? Or, I don’t know, in front of a firing squad!”

           “Do you have an escape plan hotshot?” Kara snapped as her mom came up beside her. “Your plane blew up too, remember?”

           “Your plane was blown up?”

           “Only a little, no need to worry.”

           “I do have a plan, 50% of one.”

           Kara glared, knowing he was making a quip. “What’s the plan, let’s see if I can help the odds out.”

           “There’s an F-14.”

           “Do you know how to fly an F-14, Rooster?”

           “I don’t have any other plan!”

           “I can fly an F-14,” Kara’s mom offered. “Your stepfather always took me up in them. I bet I can get around.”

           Kara blinked. “He flew F-14’s? Jesus mom, how old is he?”

           “You’d know if you ever came around for his birthday. And don’t use the Lord’s name in vain. When was the last time you went to church?”

           Priorities. This woman didn’t have them. “Does it help that I’m praying for a miracle right now?”

           Her mom looked to the floor. “You’re bleeding on the tile.”

           “Why don’t I clean it up while you warm up the car?”

           Rooster looked through the door again, peaking outside. “Guys, now might be our only time. Things are heating up.”

           “Then go meathead!”

           “Hey! Only Nat gets to call me that.”

           He listened anyway, opening the door for them, and letting Kara’s mom lead. Running in her white lab coat may have just helped them blend in more, which was great. No one was sparing them a second glance, even when Rooster all but picked Kara up because she was going too slow.

           He had an arm under her, keeping all her weight off her right leg, and so she was basically just hopping with her good leg. It was easy, a little awkward with the height difference, but they were quicker this way.

           It allowed her the opportunity to notice when he winced.

           “Why are you wincing? Your legs not broken.”

           Rooster winced again, shifting his grip. “I think I was shot.”

           Kara gave herself whiplash. “You think you were shot?” She hissed. “What do you mean you think you were shot? How do you not know if you were shot!”

           “Saying ‘I think’ made it come off as less serious!”

           Her eyes were wide with disbelief. “Not when the next words are ‘I was shot!’”

           “So what did your father say?” Kara’s mom asked, turning to glance behind as she led them to a hangar. Bringing her father into this was whiplash a second time, but in the opposite direction so she had it equally on both sides.

           Kara made a face, disoriented. Was she losing a lot of blood? She felt cold. She couldn’t feel her toes in her right foot which was not a good think, because she felt the toes in her left foot. “I never met the man!”

           “How did Chester react!” Her mom exclaimed, exasperated. “Does he like him? Your husband?”

           “Mom! Really? Now?!”

           “You started it!”

           “That was an accident!”

           “In the middle of enemy territory,” Rooster said. “On that subject, your dad flies planes?”

           “No, my dad abandoned us before I was born.” They arrived in the hangar of the F-14, providing them with a respite from the frigid mountain air. “Chester is my stepdad.”

           “Honey, he’s raised you since you were 6. I think you can call him dad. Tall man,” Kara’s mom addressed Rooster, “come over here, let me show you what to do.”

           “Tall man?”

           “Chester never adopted me. He had plenty of time, and he didn’t.”

           “He didn’t know you wanted that!”

           “Maybe he should have asked!”

           Kara leaned again the museum piece that was the F-14. Kara’s mom showed Rooster what to do, and then came over by her, pulling down the ladder and ushering her up it. She was sweating and lightheaded halfway up.

           “Any slower and we’ll definitely be shot sweety.”

           “Thank you, mother.”

           “So what’s his name?”

           Kara cursed, jumping up another step. By the time she was in the copilot seat, it felt like they were outside the hangar with the amount of stars she saw. Then bending her leg to actually fit it in the slots, she was gasping and wincing a profuse amount. She had only just gotten situated when Rooster appeared.

           “Get behind Kara,” her mom said. “Squeeze if you have to.”

           “I’m not gonna fit.”

           Kara gave him a look. He pointed a finger at her. “Don’t say it.”

           “Then Kara, sit on his lap.”

           Kara and Rooster made eye contact again. They spoke at the same time.

           “Don’t tell Nat.”

           “Don’t tell Jake.”

           Her mom picked up on it. “Jake! Is that the boy’s name? Oh that sounds lovely dear. Did your father do his special background check?”

           Kara winced again and again, crying out when her leg hit the wall. Rooster was as careful as he could be considering the situation, situating himself behind her. But inevitably, they were two grown adults trying to fit in space made for one person. It was a tight fit, and she was sitting entirely on top of him.

           Kara removed her helmet, sweaty hair raising as they pulled out from the hangar. “Mom, helmet.”

           “I don’t necessarily like this color,” she grabbed it, fitting it on. “But I suppose it’ll do. This is just how I remember it with Chester! As long as we’re not shot at, I think we’ll be fine.” They were so going to get shot at.

           They lined up at the taxi strip.

           “Ms. Maro – “

           “Mrs. Cain dear, I’m married.”

           “Sorry, Mrs. Cain, we cratered the runway.”

           The canopy sealed them in. Kara missed the frigid cold air. At least it was fresh and not thickening like the air newly sealed inside the canopy.

           “We’ll just use the taxiway dear.” The wings began to move out.

           Rooster coughed, panicking. “Yeah, we can’t take off from the taxiway Mrs. Cain. It’s too short – “

           “I never liked to tell myself ‘can’t’, it creates a mind frame that is very. . .” the engine thrummed, flaps angling up and down. “Very inhibitory.” They shoved forward and Kara shoved back, into Rooster who shoved back into his seat. Her head hit his helmet which hurt like a bitch.

           “That’s not a mind frame, that’s physics!”

           “I never liked physics,” her mom said, putting the thrusters to the max as they neared an archway that would very much put an end to their escape. “Only class I ever cried because of.”

           “Mom, archway – archway!”

           They pulled up, gravity pulling down on her gut. If she had anything inside her, it would probably be over her lap.

           “Yes dear I see it,” her mom remained calm, Kara and Rooster both tensed up, shutting their eyes – “See, wasn’t so bad. We may have lost our front wheel but that’s a problem for later, seeing as I don’t know how to land.”

           Oh God.

           Rooster was crafting his last will and testimony right now. The air of regret that came off of him clogged the thick air more. “I can’t believe we just went along with this. We’re Top Gun pilots and we let your mom fly.”

           “She said she knew how to fly the F-14!”

           “We’re Top Gun pilots! I think we could’ve figured it out!”

           “Come now Tall Man,” her mom tsked, shaking her head, struggling to keep a steady grip and wobbling the jet slightly. “I had a very good teacher. Have you not met Kara’s dad before? He’s an exceptional pilot. Graduated from Top Gun too.”

           “Your dad – “

           “Stepdad.”

           “Wait, Mrs. Cain. . . .you’re married to a man named Chester Cain?”

           “That’s what his birth certificate told me. He is a secretive man though so I wouldn’t be surprised if that was fabricated.”

           Rooster twisted to stare at her. “Your dad is Admira- “

           “Mom, don’t panic.” The tone of voice set the scene, and the otherwise lively aircraft silenced. “Tally 2, 5 o’clock low.”

           “I have no idea what that means.”

           “Enemy aircraft at 5 o’clock,” Kara repeated, twisting so Rooster could see. “Two of them, lower down.”

           “Get your head down Kara,” Rooster said offhandedly, watching the birds, bringing his mask up. “Don’t let them see you. Mask on Mrs. Cain.”

           Kara bent as best as she could, trying to flatten herself. It hurt, her thigh screeched.

           “What do I do Kara? If I’m to be honest, my flying is sketchy enough without enemy aircraft at my side.”

           Rooster answered for her. It was hard to talk with blood rushing to her head while she was bent over in a too tight space. “Just play it cool Mrs. Cain. Think about your husband, what would he do right now?”

           “He wouldn’t have gotten himself into this situation.”

           “That’s a fair point. This was a questionable decision and you know, once we get out of this, we’ll laugh about it over a few beers.”

           “Kara can’t drink, it messes with her medication.”

           “Mom. Priority!”

           “Sorry sweety, I thought he knew!”

           “I don’t just tell people I’m on meds!”

           “It actually makes me feel better,” Rooster unhelpfully added. “You definitely need them.”

           “Enemy aircraft Rooster. Remember?”

           That snapped him back into things. “If they knew who we were,” he concluded, “we’d be dead already.”

           “Just try and play along mom! Like how you did with whatever you were doing on your mission. You blended in. Do that now.”

           “Oh, okay. That doesn’t sound too bad. One of them is coming up, should I wave?”

           “Good thought, let’s save that for later.”

           “That man is waving, I’ll wave back.”

           Oh God they were going to die.

           “That’s not a wave that’s a signal!” Rooster exclaimed, voice muffled by his mask.

           “A wave is a signal dear, for hello.”

           They were going to be blown out of the sky. Again.

           “What’s happening?” Kara asked, wishing she could raise her head. “What’s he doing?”

           “I don’t know that signal!” Rooster exclaimed, “Mrs. Cain, stop waving!”

           “He changed his wave, should I copy him?”

           They were going to die a painful, tragic death. At least they weren’t going to die alone.

           “What wave?!” Kara asked, panicked.

           “I don’t know that one either, do not copy him! No good, no good!”

           Kara’s mom sighed. “I don’t know what you want from me! Kara said blend in, but you won’t let me do anything! Why don’t you just take over controls?”

           “That’s not how the F-14 works! Shit!” Rooster twisted in his seat, knocking Kara into a wall and pulling a breathless gasp from her. Her pupils dilated with a flood of pain. “His wingman is moving into weapons’ envelope.”

           “Is that code for something?”

           “Yeah, we’re about to get shot!”

           Kara raised up now, entirely forgoing cover. If they were going to get shot, she was going to see it coming.

           “What?!” Her mom screeched, fully breaking her calm now. “Hold on!”

           “What – Hugh!”

           Kara’s eyes bulged and she was shoved into Rooster again. Her hands slammed into the canopy as her mom yanked them to the side without any class whatsoever.

           “MOM – WHAT’RE YOU DOING!”

           “ISN’T THIS CALLED A DOGFIGHT?”

           “YOU’RE NOT A PILOT, YOU DON’T KNOW HOW TO DO THAT!”

           Oh my God she was firing. She was fucking firing! How did she even know about that button?!

           “WE CAN’T BEAT FIFTH GEN AIRCRAFTS CAIN!”

           “CHESTER ALWAYS SAID IT’S NOT THE PLANE, IT’S THE PILOT.”

           Rooster and her screamed together, “YOU’RE NOT A PILOT!”

           She got a hit. She actually got a hit. The jet in front of them blew with steam and headed to the ground. “It’s just like that videogame you used to play!” Her mom exclaimed.

           “SMOKE IN THE AIR, SMOKE – “

           “MISSILE!” Kara corrected, screeching over Rooster. “Dive for that jet mom, use it as a cover – fuck!” Her mom listened, diving for the jet she had already hit. Her head was shaking up a storm and her brain was liquified at this point. She felt like she was going to vomit.

           “You got it – Shit, here comes another one!” Rooster called, looking behind them.

           Kara leaned forward. Standing on her good leg, reaching to the right of her mom. “Mom, left hand, shove it forward, and yank back with me, NOW!” Her mom shoved forward, and they both yanked the yoke back. Her head went light and she set her bad foot down. Her knee buckled and she would’ve collapsed if she wasn’t holding onto the yoke with everything she had.

           “Rooster flares, deploy flares!”

           “Deploying – we have a hit!”

           “Splitting throttle,” Kara said, leaning even further over her mom’s seat, “turning around! Hold me down!”

           She started to raise up, Rooster grabbed her by the hips so she didn’t just hit the canopy as they did a very questionable maneuver for their over inhabited jet.

           They righted, now behind the enemy aircraft and Kara lined up her shot.

           “You got it, take the shot!” Rooster encouraged.

           Kara fired, and then witnessed something she had never witnessed before.

           The missile missed the jet. The pilot pulled back, flaps flaring, and he practically pivoted in midair.

           They blew past the jet, Rooster twisting behind with the same disbelief as Kara. Kara’s mom was none the wiser on the magnitude of what they just saw.

           “Holy shit – what the fuck was that?”

           “Can we do that?” Kara’s mom asked, looking up at her. She blinked. “Honey where’s your helmet?”

           “Get low to confuse their tracking Icarus!”

           “On it, hold tight!” She wasn’t sending out a warning. She was telling him to hold her tight as they inverted, and he did, preventing her from slamming into the canopy.

           She righted, half of her vision gone with stars and she landed on her bad leg. The jet dipped, accidentally letting go of the yolk. Her mother snatched it up, preventing them from crash landing in the stream below.

           Bullets danced past them, missing, hopefully meaning the enemy’s targeting system was screwed.

           “Rooster, talk to me. Where is he?” Kara asked, taking control again. A knot forming in her back, locking her in place and making it hard to move.

           “He’s on our six – we took a hit! We gotta shake him!”

           “Easier said than done!” An idea struck her, one she’d like a lot more if she was in the driver’s seat and not reaching around her mom. “I got an idea, hold on! Mom, silver handle shove back – black and yellow open, flip up, pull back, pull back!”

           They pulled back together, and Kara really did black out this time because one second they were pulling back, the next Rooster was shouting her name. She blinked through the haze, and fell forward, shoving the yoke down. Their nose angled to the ground, sudden change in gravity just another hit.

           They swept low between the valley, only this time, they were behind the aircraft. The alarm sounded with a lock and she took the shot.

           Kara cursed when the enemies flares deployed, and switched the thumb lever over to guns.

           “Out of missiles, switching to guns!”

           “You got this Icarus!”

           She glanced at her rounds and started firing.

           Miss. Stop.

           Glance to the rounds.

           The target lined up and she fired again.

           Miss. Stop.

           “C’mon Icarus!”

           “You got this sweety,” her mom said, gentle hand resting on her forearm. “I know you do.”

           Kara exhaled. 1 chance left. Lined up. Fired –

           Hit.

           Chute in the air, jet crashing into the valley hill.

           “Woohoo! I knew you had it Icarus, I knew it!”

           They left the green and white landscape behind, trading it for ocean below.

           Sweating, breathless, Kara gasped out, “fly straight,” and left the yoke to her mom, plopping back down on Rooster.

           “You good – you’re pale. Here,” he detached his mask, holding it against her mouth. “C’mon Maro. Almost in the clear. Just hold on a little longer.”

           She nodded, sucking in the cooler air the mask provided. Her breaths were short and quick, her hands were shaking. When her lungs were refilled, she lowered the mask. Sweat drenched her.

           “Thanks for holding onto me,” she whispered, drained of everything, but unable to give up. They weren’t home yet.

           “Platonically, I’ll never let you go.”

           She cracked a smile. “Thanks for clarifying, I was confused as to your intentions.”

           “I know what effect I have on women and I won’t break the bro code, even if it is Hangman we’re talking about. Hey, you know which switch is for the radio? There’s like a hundred,” Kara leaned forward before he could finish, and flipped a switch. The radio’s green screen lit up.

           “Dad snuck me onto base once,” Kara said, pulling on a memory she had forgotten for years. “Took me up in an F-14. I had to switch this off so we weren’t caught.”

           “Your dad? Admiral – “

           An alarm gently sounded. Kara’s skin crawled, goosebumps formed. She sat forward, Rooster twisted and turned, looking all around them.

           “What’s that sound mean?” Kara’s mom asked, looking behind.

           “We’re locked on,” Kara whispered.

           “Where is this guy?” Rooster demanded, looking to his left again.

           Kara pulled herself forward, fixated on a single point in the distance.

           “He’s on our nose,” she whispered, more to herself. The wash of smoke in the air that came right after was a testament to their sealed fate.

           Maybe there had never been any hope anyway.

           “Mom, left hand – “

           “Down!” She finished, and they shoved the yoke sideways, turning the jet. “Rooster, flares!”

           She heard him hit the button, and the missile shot past, meeting its demise in the flares.

           “That was close!” Rooster exclaimed as they passed the enemy aircraft then. Less than fifty feet away in the air.

           They flattened.

           “Kara, we’re out of flares! He’s already on us!”

           Think Kara think! Think!

           She glanced back, spotting the yellow and black handles above Rooster’s head. She looked down at the yellow and black handles under her mom’s seat.

           Their only option. They couldn’t outfly this aircraft, and they were out of countermeasures.

           He started shooting, landing his first hits quick. Rooster called them out, his panic and fear blatant. Her mother was softer, asking what to do. Not looking at her, but her hands shook anyway.

           Afraid.

           Rooster called another hit. Lights on the dashboard lit up with failures.

           “We can’t outrun them,” Kara shouted. “Mom, when I say go, get us high. Left hand forward, pull the yoke back. Just get us altitude. Rooster, you hold onto me, okay? We have to eject.”

           “What?” Rooster shouted.

           “Mom, yellow and black handles beneath you. We’ll blow the canopy, but then you eject too, understand?”

           “Yellow and black handles, I see.”

           “Good, GO!”

           Kara plopped back into Rooster, and to perfection, her mother did as told. Kara was shoved back again, into Rooster from the force of their ascent, and she raised her hands to the eject.

           Roosters arms wrapped around her waist, holding her tight. Tight for her safety, and maybe to ease his nerves.

           They cleared altitude quickly. “Ejecting! Ejecting!” Kara called, and yanked with all her might on the handles above her.

           They didn’t budge.

           “Kara?” Her mom called, knowing something was wrong, not knowing what.

           “Ejecting!” Kara screamed, yanking again.

           She had to. She had to get this –

           That soft, haunting alarm sounded again. The enemy had a lock on them.

           “NO!” She screamed, yanking –

           The canopy blew. There was a gust of wind in every direction, the grip around her tightened, and they were thrown into the air. The chaos was a whirlwind, like being caught in a tornado. She had no control, she wasn’t held in tight, not secure. Arms were wrapped around her, yes, but they were tossed around and when that chute opened, her only means of attachment slipped.

           “No – NO!”

           “ROOSTER!” Kara sobbed, fear gripping her heart so tight it even hurt to breathe.

           “I GOT YOU!”

           “DON’T LET GO!” Kara cried out, holding onto his foot. She barely got it. She could’ve fallen. She would’ve fallen. 

           Kara didn’t want to die. For the first time in so long, she wanted to live. She had someone to live for. She had someone to return home to. She had to get there. 

            Rooster reached down for her but couldn’t stretch that far, he was stuck in place. He reached his hand out anyway, as far as it would go. “GRAB ONTO ME!”

           “KARA!” Her mom screeched, chute deployed, floating safely down. Now seeing the situation. “KARA HOLD ON!”

           The enemy jet circled around them – no.

           A jet was blown up, and it hadn’t been theirs. Theirs crash landed into the ocean. . . another jet had been blown up, and a third one circled around them now.

           She knew that flying. Knew that precision, the need for perfection. There was no mistaking it.

           Hangman.

           “Kara,” Rooster cracked out her name, not seeing what she was seeing. He stretched down as far as he could. “C’mon, try and get my hand. I’ll pull you up, just get to my hand. Please.”

           Her heart pounded. Her hands were sweaty. Her legs dangled freely and she knew she didn’t have the strength. She knew that if she tried, she would drop. She knew that if she didn’t try, she was going to drop. She couldn’t hold herself like this for much longer.

           She licked her lips, fixating on her target. Grab his hand. He’ll pull her up.

           Get to his hand.

           The sky was a nice blue. There was a warmth to the sun that reached down to her, and this time, she didn’t mind it. After being cold for so long, it was nice to be warm like this. 

           With her final bit of energy, Kara tried to reach. Rooster shoved down too, but their fingertips only glimpsed each other. She couldn’t support herself with one hand, and Kara was no longer holding onto Rooster.

           He shouted, her mother screeched her name, and Kara was quiet. Quiet as she fell, hair blowing up, dipped in her own blood. She shut her eyes, closing herself off from the blue world, the living world.

           Kara closed her eyes and accepted that she may have failed to save herself, but her mother was alive. Her mother was alive, and that was what matt-  there was black.

           And wasn’t it ironic that Icarus’ story ended in water? After escaping with his parent, they flew away to safety, but Icarus flew too high and fell to the water below him. Trapped in earth, flew too high in the sky, and buried himself in water. 

           It was a terrible form of irony.

[green-ville]

The Story of Icarus (5)

          Synopsis: All cards on the table. Maverick now knows why she has to fly this mission, but will allowing her to go jeopardize it? Will he have just signed her death warrant?

______

Chapter 5: The Missions

             She hadn’t made the cut.

           The words repeated in her head again and again and again.  

           Phoenix and Bob.

           Fanboy and Payback.

           Rooster.

           Maverick.

           Phoenix and Bob.

           Fanboy and Payback.

           Rooster.

           Maverick.

           Everyone else was gearing up. Kara stayed behind. Captain Mitchell walked over to her, sensing her distress. Seeing it easily, because she hadn’t moved a muscle since her name wasn’t called.

           “I’m sorry, Maro. But I can’t be the reason one of you dies.”

           “I. . .”

           “Maybe if we had that extra week, you would have been able to work through whatever you need to work through, but the timeline was pushed up. I can’t, in good conscience, send you off.”

           No. She had been flying better. She beat the course, so what if she was off by a few seconds? In real life she can do it better! She’d be better! She needed to fly this mission!

           Maverick shook his head, genuinely apologetic. He turned to leave, and the shock wore off enough for her to get a sentence out.

           “Who did you lose, sir? If you don’t mind me asking.”

           He stopped, paused, and faced her again. He swallowed and nodded. “My WSO. A great man named Goose.”

           “Rooster’s dad?”

           The two words together provoked a soft wince, old wounds that never fully healed. He answered her honestly anyway. “Yes.”

           Kara smiled, humorless, broken. “I’m going to lose my mom if I don’t fly this mission.”

           Maverick’s gaze locked on her. The brown was focused, twice as serious now.

           “She’s over there, an agent in the field, and needs extraction but they can’t get her out. She’s how we got all the information on the uranium site. Once it’s blown up, security will triple and it’ll be too hard to try and get her out. They won’t send anyone to try and remove her. It’s either pull her out on this mission,” her lower lip shook, words choking on their way out. Her final sentence was barely audible. “Or not at all.”

           “And what about your teammates, Icarus? This mission will be hard enough getting in and getting out, but getting in, making a pit stop, and getting out?”

           “I will make sure they’re in the clear before I break away sir.”

           “Which puts you in even more danger.”

           “I know the risks, sir. I’ve been thinking things through since day one.”

           And he had been saying it too, a mission they might not all come back from. For Icarus, she knew the risks, and she still had to try. Even if it was sabotaged from the start, she couldn’t not try.

           Maverick sighed, internally torn apart, struggling to conceal the turmoil. He hung his head, shaking it. “You’ve put me in a spot, Lieutenant Commander.”

           “I will come back, sir.”

           “You can never be certain.”

           “Every mission I’ve ever gone on, I have come back.” An obvious fact. “And that was without someone to come back to. That was going out, not truly caring about myself, but needing to go out anyway because there was someone that needed help. And I took a lot of hits, selfishly hoping that one of them would be the one to finish it, but it never did. I have someone to come back to now, so I promise you, sir. I promise, that even if my plane gets blown up, I will come back. Even if I get shot, I will come back. Nothing will stop me from coming back. . .Or ensuring the survival of my teammates.”

           His smile was small, sad, but true. “You certainly know how to give a speech, Lieutenant Commander.”

           “I know. . .I know I’m asking a lot of you. To trust me when my behavior has been so erratic – “

           Rooster cut her off. “I trust you, Icarus.”

           Phoenix nodded beside him. “I know you’ll do what’s right Maro. If you can make Bagman a better person, I already classify you as a miracle worker.”

           Bob shrugged. “I trust Nat’s judgment.”

           Fanboy and Payback remained quiet, studying her for another minute before they shared a look. Then a nod. “I can’t say that I like this plan, but I trust Maverick. And I trust Rooster and Phoenix,” Payback said. “If they fly behind you, so will I.”

           “Just maybe drink a bottle of water first, because I don’t want to carry you to a medic a second time,” Fanboy joked.

           Kara smiled. “I’ll drink some water. And thank you for that, I appreciated it.”

           “I’d say anytime, but that seems ill-phrased.”

           She nodded, clapping her hands together, exhaling. “Alright then aviators. You know what to do. You know that, no matter what happens, you keep flying.”

           They grew uncomfortable again, the same way they were when she first told them the plan. Rooster nodded first, and then they all followed suit.

           “Are we ready, then?”

           A chorus of “yes ma’am’s,” and they all parted ways, heading to their respective jets. Kara successively managed to turn around before she was stopped. Despite the worry on his face, she saw him and smiled, worry stripping away.

           “I’ll come back,” she promised, going straight for a hug. He didn’t hesitate to hold her back, squeezing her closer, kissing the top of her head.

           “You better,” he warned. “My grandparents will already be upset with me for being married, but being married and widowed and having never met you, they might not let me back on the farm.”

           She pulled back, smiling up at him. “I won’t let you get widowed. You’re stuck with me now.”

           He bent down, pecking her softly on the lips.

           “Come back,” he said, and she smiled, cupping his cheek.

           “I’ll see you soon, Seresin.”

           He rolled his eyes, watching her slip away. “You better, Seresin.”

           From not too far away, Natasha Trace gagged loudly, then pretended to hurl over the edge of her jet.

           Jake rolled his eyes. “Shut up Trace, I know you and Rooster have that weird thing going on.”

           Bob made a face. “You and Rooster – !”

           “NO!”

 _

           “Dagger 1, up and ready on catapult 1.”

           Her heart rate slowed down, her senses tuning themselves to the situation.

           Her teammates readied themselves, smoke swirling around her jet as she waited. She only half listened in, plan sweeping through her head one final time.

           Everyone was going to make it back. She had made amends with Jake. She was going to get back.

           “Dagger Spare, standby.” Jake on standby.

           “Dagger 4, up and ready.” Payback and Fanboy, ready for takeoff.

           Phoenix voiced next, calm and steady. “Dagger 3, up and ready.”  

            “Dagger 2, up and ready.” Rooster, who would take over for her once she left.

           They knew the plan. They knew what would happen. There wouldn’t be any surprises.

           6 were leaving for this mission, 7 would return.

           “Standby for launch decision,” a monotonous woman from the control tower spoke.

           Her hand rested on the yoke, the throttle.

           6 were leaving. Right now she flew with an empty back seat. When she returned, that seat would be filled.

           “Launch them,” Cyclone’s voice sounded, and at his command, she led the charge.

           Testing all her flaps one last time, setting her propulsion damn near to the max, Icarus signaled to the ground, and then she was launched. She shot forward, searing across the short landing strip, and when she breached the edge, there was a quick dip down, gravity taking hold and dropping her stomach with it. She breathed through it and began to ascend.

           High above the clouds, she waited for her teammates to get in position. Seeing them on her radar, she spoke into her mask.

           “Dagger 1 for standby check in.”

            “Picture clean, recommend dagger continue.”

           “Copy, daggers descending below radar,” Icarus responded, pushing down on the yoke and leading the descent. The clouds blurred their field of vision momentarily, but she couldn’t allow the obstruction to raise her anxiety. She was at the therapeutic level of having a sharper focus, high energy levels, and an eerie sense of calm.

           “Daggers now below radar.”

           The ocean ghosted below them, the horizon showing their future. The snow topped landscape. The mountain that stood so far away, but with the speed they were going, it would be less than three minutes for them to meet.

           “Here we go,” Icarus said. “Enemy territory up ahead. Picture clean?”

           The monotonous woman confirmed. “Picture clean. Decision is yours.”

           There was never an option for turning back. Not in her books.

           “Dagger attack.”

           “Tomahawks airborne.”

           “No turning back now.”

           No turning back indeed, as the tomahawks were already flying overhead. Less than a hundred feet above them, and heading straight for enemy territory.

           Icarus nodded. “Daggers, attack formation.”

           She glanced behind once, to confirm they were all set. Dagger 3 to her immediate back. Dagger 2 behind. Dagger 4 carrying up the rear.

           “Daggers set. Proceeding to target. 2 minutes and 30 seconds in 3.” A breath. She could see trees. “2.” Her muscles relaxed. “1 mark.” She was over ground, and her timer started down.

           “2 mark.”

           “3 mark.”

           “4 mark.”

           They were in the danger zone now.

           It was different than how they practiced. Physically, similar. Each turn was like her skeleton was being compressed. The air struggled to come in. The sweat drenched her. Her eyes had to scan everything at once but now there were objects actually on the hills for them to locate.

           Different in the sense of they could get shot at any time.

           “SAM 1, high up, 3 o’clock.”

           “SAM 2, left side, 11 o’clock.”

           And she worried. Her arms chilled even though she was sweating right now. Fear ran through her because these people trusted her. Trusted her like Jake had on their first mission. And they knew the plan, she had told them she’d be leaving, but that didn’t calm her raising heart rate, or unknot her twisted stomach.

           This mission felt wrong now, but it was too late.

           Controls alerted them of 2 bogeys in the distance. She spotted them, flying high, standard patrol. They weren’t seen yet.  

           “They haven’t seen us yet. Proceed as planned.”

           Even still, she pushed that throttle down more. Speeding forward, weaving through the hills, spotting all the SAMS that would be on their asses in less than three minutes. A party for later. A bridge popped up, and she flipped again, blowing through it and letting out a shaky laugh as she passed.

           “Phoenix, mind your head.”

           “Minding it,” she copied back, following the maneuver to pass through the tall, narrow arches of a bridge.

           “Rooster,” Payback said, “we’re behind schedule. Pick it up man.”

           Damn. Behind? She had been so worried about her own situation that she didn’t once think about Rooster! Damn damn damn! She had to get him back in real life, out of his head.

           “Dagger 2, how we doing?” Icarus asked.

           Rooster didn’t respond.

           “Dagger 1, the runway is gone. Bogeys are veering away.”

           They were in the final stretch. Six more seconds and they’d be climbing the mountain. And Rooster was behind.

           “Rooster come on man, I can’t do this without you,” she said, the mountain right in front of her. Large, dominating, terrifying.

           Blow up the site. Get them back to water. Get her mom. Return home and never fly another mission. She just had to get back home and that was it.

           Rooster didn’t respond.

           “C’mon dad, talk to me.” A quiet, almost nonexistent whisper. Not meant for anyone else, but they had an active line, so of course she heard it.

           And Icarus had never met his dad before, didn’t know a thing about him other than he was Maverick’s WSO, and he died. Rooster thought he never made him proud.

           “Make him proud Rooster,” Icarus said. “Make your dad proud.”

           That was all she could say.

And she began the ascent.

           Her muscles bulged. She kept breathing, forceful exhales and tingling inhales. Black spots threatened to blind her. She blew her eyes open, fighting against passing out. Snow blew behind her, likely blinding Phoenix the rest of the way.

           “Woah Rooster! Not that quick buddy!” Payback exclaimed, and as she inverted, blood rushing to her head, there was a grin on her face.

           He was doing it.

           “Bob, eyes on target, eyes on target!”

           “Dagger 3, standby Icarus, standby . . .Got it!”

           The alarm rang in her ears. She had a locked target. “Target acquired, bombs away,” she addressed, and let them fly.

           Then she pulled back, breaking the sharp descent for a mind melting ascent. She kept her head forward, forcing her eyes open, forcing breaths inside her because if she held her breath now, she’d pass out for sure and she was coming home. There’d be no one stopping her from coming home.

           “We have impact! We have a direct hit!” Bob exclaimed. He sounded insultingly surprised.

           “Dagger 2, status!” She shouted this, fighting the wave of fatigue.

           “Almost there Icarus, almost there!

           “Fanboy, where’s my laser?!”

           “Rooster there’s something wrong with the laser, shit! Dead eye dead eye dead eye!”

           “C’mon guys, we’re running out of time.”

           “I’m trying I’m trying I’m trying!”

           “No good, I’m firing blind.”

           “Rooster wait!”

           “Bombs away bombs away!”

           She broke through the mountain’s protection. The SAMS locked on her. A second later, the SAMS spotted Dagger 3.

           “Smoke in the air!”

           “Bullseye bullseye bullseye!”

           Icarus looked back, and saw the cloud of smoke washing up from the ground. They had done it! Rooster fucking got it!

           And now they were targets.

           “Phoenix, on your 6!”

           “Dagger 3 deploying flares – “

           Bob cut in, “4 o clock Icarus, 4 o clock!”

           Icarus broke away, “dagger 1 defending!”

Daggers 2 and 4 joined the fight, bursting from the mountains cover. They shot into the cloudy sky, her eyes tracking them for a split second just to count that there were two planes, and she was back on surveillance.

           Six voices talking all at once and every voice being heard. Flashes of red and balls of fire lighting up the sky.

           “Deploying counter measures! Negative contact.”

           “Payback, SAM on your nose.”

           “Dagger 4 defending.”

           “HERE COMES ANOTHER ONE!”

           “Dagger 3 defending!”

           Unanimously, as a team, they were all heading away from the mountain top. She didn’t have to say it, and they had never practiced together before, but they were all doing it. They all knew what to do. Not only did they have each other’s backs, but they were making progress to safety too.

           More SAMS shot at them, none of them diving low enough to evade their reach. Icarus lead the charge forward, shouting whenever she saw anything.

           “Smoke in the air, smoke in the air!”

           “Break right Dagger 4!”

           “Dagger 4 defending!”

           “Phoenix, two more on your 6!”

           “Talk to me Bob!”

           “Break right, break right!”

           “Dagger 2 smoke in the air!”

           “Dagger 2 defending!”

           Icarus glanced back, steering straight, seeing the missiles in the air.

           A second later, her heart dropped.

           “Shit, I’m out of flares!”

           She lied. She lied to Maverick. She promised she’d get them home and Rooster was a target right now.

           “ROOSTER EVADE EVADE!”

           “I can’t shake em! They’re on me!”

           She lied to Maverick. She lied to Jake. Her commanding officers were right in giving her the name Icarus. She had agreed to a mission she wouldn’t return home from.

           “I’m sorry Jake,” Icarus whispered, tone steel. Unwavering. Depleted. Her right hand shoved the gear forward. She left it, double handling the yoke, and she yanked with all her might back.

           The tip of her jet faced the sun, blinding her.

           Flying too close to the sun.

           “I’m so sorry,” she finished, accepting her fate, and slammed her fist against the flares, blinking back stars.

           Rooster passed beneath.

           Her flares deployed, catching one of the missiles.

           Another caught her.

           “ICARUS NO!”

           “Dagger 1 is hit! I repeat, Dagger 1 is hit! Icarus is down!”

           “Does anyone see her? Does anyone see a chute?!”

           “Dagger 1 come in!”

           “I didn’t see a parachute!”

           “We have to circle back!”

           “Comanche bandits inbound. Single group hot. Recommend dagger flow south. One minute to intercept.”

           “Dagger team return to carrier.”

           “What about Icarus?!”

           “She knew the risks.”

           “Dagger spare requesting permission to launch aircraft!”

           “Negative spare.”

           “Dagger, you are not to engage. Repeat, you are not to engage. Acknowledge. Repeat, acknowledge.”

           “Rooster, you can’t go back. Bandits are closing in.”

           “She’s gone, Rooster. She’s gone.”

                       Her body seized up, muscles taught, and then the pain flared through her entire body. Her heart raced, pounding, trying to burst free, and then she was moving without processing.

           Kara dangled fifteen feet off the ground, parachute caught in a tree. Her leg ached up a storm, her head was warm, but she was alive. Alive, and unbuckling herself, and then she was dropping onto the ground. She choked on air, chortling, spiraling –

           Poof!

           Snow softened the blow, but not by much, and then she realized how badly her leg was fucked up.

           Red blotted down into the perfect white, and she propped herself on her elbows, body hot as she looked down to her leg.

           “Not good,” Kara whispered, cheeks red, forehead red. “Not good.”

           Field first aid was based off of ‘use what you have’. Specifically with her line of work, Kara had much experience with this. Her leg was broken, an idiot could figure that out. On top of that, there was something sticking in her leg. She couldn’t really identify it because the only time she looked at it, a wave of nausea fell over her and she almost passed out. She couldn’t be doing that right now.

           Her muscle twitched and pain shot all the way up her back. There was no way she could put pressure on it, let alone an ounce of her weight. Kara had a retractable metal staff that would help her walk, so there was that. And she had a medical kit.

           First things first; stop the bleeding. Above the area where she was impaled, she used her belt as a tourniquet, restricting the blood flow to her leg. She wouldn’t be able to keep that on forever, but for now, she needed to slow the blood down. Tightening it in place, she bit into a strap of leather to stop her scream from alerting everyone of her location.

           Her eyes burned with tears. Next, Kara attempted to stabilize her leg with a bunch of wrap around bandages and nearby twigs.  It was perhaps the shittiest brace in the existence of braces, but she was alive, so she wasn’t complaining.

           Her next goal was to stand, but she never got to attempt that. The sound of a chopper nearby brought back her fight or flight response.        

           She heard it first, spotted it second. Off in the distance, camouflaged into the white and grey world, a chopper. A chopper coming straight for her.

           Kara jammed the extended staff into the ground and shouted her pain, standing up. Using the staff as her leg, she hobbled/ran for cover, fighting off passing out as every jagged movement burned in her leg. It felt wet, was she still bleeding? She didn’t have time to think about it because she was being shot at!

           The spray of dust brushed her, and Kara shouted again, throwing herself behind a fallen tree, hitting the ground hard, and rolling for full cover.

           The world was black for a second. She grabbed snow, pressed it to her neck, tried to force herself to fight off falling to sleep.

           She had to stay awake.

           Had to keep going.

           The helicopter swept around, and she rolled onto her stomach, staring it dead on. Mouth parted, chest caving, she heard the familiar whirling of the bullets starting up –

           And she watched a missile crash into the side of the helicopter, blowing it up. The warmth reached her face, and she spotted the fighter jet a second later. Saw it curve in the air, flying too high, a SAM locked onto it and deploy, deploy!

           The pilot didn’t deploy.

           He was out.

           That stupid idiot was out!

           Rooster took a hit, jet blowing into irreparable pieces, but she saw his chute in the air.

           Alive, at least, she hoped.

[green-ville]

The Story of Icarus (4)

        Synopsis: Kara Maro made one mistake in her naval aviator career, and his name is Jake Seresin. The lies are stacking up and when they topple, she’ll be buried beneath them. 

----

Chapter 4: Stack The Lies High Enough, They’ll Topple

             “What happened.”

           “Nothing, sir.”

           “You passed out on us and you weren’t even flying. That leads to concern.”

           “Bad dream, sir. It doesn’t happen when I’m awake.”

           “You look like you haven’t slept in weeks.”

           “I’m sorry, sir. Really, I’m fine.”

           Maverick pierced his lips. That look that he gave her spoke a thousand, indescribable words. “You don’t have to lie to me, Maro. Your confidentiality agreement. . .I have clearance. I can look into it.”

           But he hasn’t, she finished for him. She cracked a half smile, which dropped quicker than she should have let it. “I’m fine sir, really. Just a bad dream.”

           “A bad dream,” he repeated, “or a flashback?”

           She wasn’t keeping up the mask. It was all down now and she wasn’t even trying. He could see past it- through it. He was reading her like a book. Had he done so this entire time? Was it all pointless? Had she failed every step of the way in this stupid mission?!?

           Her finger twitched.

           “I,” her voice cracked. She gave up for good, head bowing. “I really can’t lie to you, can I sir?”

           He kept a respectful volume for the quiet hospital room. “You can try, but it, if I’m to be honest with you, hasn’t worked.”

            He even sounded apologetic that it hasn’t worked. He was practically apologizing for her failures.

           “I’m sorry.”

           “You don’t need to apologize.” His sincerity was almost believable. If only her pessimistic brain wasn’t stronger. “Really, Maro. I want to see you succeed. Let me help you.”

           She bowed her head, staring at the white sheets. Tears burning her eyes. Crying again. Weak. Pathetic. She was going to fail this mission – if she even got to it.

           “I’m sorry sir,” she repeated, because that was apparently all she knew how to do. “I’m sorry.”

           “Stop apologizing, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

           Tears poured forward, a tidal wave she couldn’t control. Because she couldn’t control anything right now. “I’m sorry,” she whispered again, knees coming up, hands covering her red eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

           “You didn’t do anything wrong Maro.”

           “I did everything wrong!” She was crying in front of her Captain. She was basically beginning for attention at this point. She was laying it on thick, emotionally manipulating him. Could she even be a shitier person or was this the extent of it?

           “Maro, let me help you, please.”

           “I – I’m sorry sir. I’m sorry.”

           “What happened?”

           “I. . .” her heart rate kept going higher, breaths raising up. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told him. I shouldn’t have kept it from him.”

           “Told who? Told him what?”

           “My mission!” She sobbed into her hands, hiding her red face. Shame shook her body. The memory playing. Always leading her decisions. “My mission sir, it was different from his. I had orders, he didn’t know them! He hates me and I can’t make it right! I’ll never make it right!”

           “You got my back babe?” Jake whispered to her, speaking out of the corner of his mouth so the superiors around them couldn’t hear. He liked flirting where it was obvious. He was a risk seeker, otherwise he wouldn’t be a Naval pilot.

           Smiling, lying through her teeth, she answered back, “I’ve always got your back baby.”

                         Kara kicked down the locked door on her fourth attempt. She shouted her frustration as the door slammed into the wall, but thankfully it didn’t bounce back. She was allowed entry in to the room she knew she needed to go into.

           Because there he was. Her mission.

           “Name and date of birth,” she screamed, gun pointed at him even as she searched the room. “NOW!”

           “Mark Peters, March 15, 1971!”

           Confirmed name and date of birth. His profile matched the picture she had been shown anyway. Still, her first mission, she didn’t want to bring the wrong person back. She walked to him, still scanning, paranoid driving her every movement. She grabbed him by the collar and shoved him forward. “Stay low and keep moving.”

           “I’m finally being extracted?”

           “Shut it!”

             Their landing wasn’t her smoothest. They had been shot at \countless times and she could only protect and out maneuver them so much. They had taken several hits leading to a crash landing.

           The moon lit their canopy as it opened up, and breathing in that fresh air should have brought her some sense of calm.

           Her first mission.

           Success.

           It didn’t.

           The men that surrounded her all went for the man she had brought back, grabbing at him, helping him down. They hardly paid her bleeding self any attention. She held her abdomen where blood soaked her uniform, and when shouting at them proved useless, she finally grabbed one.

           She yanked him and shoved him against the ladder she had climbed down. Her eyes burned with dust and debris, her lips were dried and cracked, her skin was caked with filth. She screamed at him, half mad, “JAKE SERESIN. ALIVE?”

           “Yeah!” The man screamed back, alarmed. “Returned like 15 hours ago.”

              “Orders aren’t always more important than the person you fly with, Maro. In the end, it comes down to you to make that decision.”

           She raised her head, looking at him with her red eyes, her red face, her messy hair that conveyed none of the professionalism and confidence she had to have. “It’s one life against another, sir,” she whispered, practically breaking that confidentiality agreement. Understanding began to dawn, and he saw a part of her she had never truly revealed more. “And if I know my wingman can handle it, I’ll leave them. Every time,” she whispered, bowing her head again. Hiding her shame. “Every time, I will leave them.”

           A hand rested on her knee. It was warm compared to her cold. She was cold now. Nothing could warm her up.

           “You have to go on this mission, don’t you. It’s not pride, it’s necessity.”

           Kara didn’t answer him for a long time. She couldn’t. Every time she thought about answering she choked up, swallowing her words thickly. She couldn’t even speak she was so useless.

           Finally it got out. Breaking her confidentiality even more. Shit had hit the fan in a way she had never expected.

           “Yes, sir. I need to.”

           Maverick nodded, patting her knee. “Then I will do everything in my power to create a team, okay Icarus? But I. . .my priority is making a team to survive this mission. I need you to be a team.”

           And she’ll betray them, just like she betrayed all of them.

           Still, she nodded. She raised her head, looked at him again despite knowing she was a horrible mess right now. She thanked him with her red eyes and tear stained face, wondering what must have happened to this poor man to make him so understanding of her situation.

             They were taking the day for the beach. That didn’t entail sunbathing and swimming, their Captain had other plans.

           Dog fight football.

           When Maro heard, sand already shifting between her toes, she couldn’t believe it. What type of Captain was this? Just this morning she had seen how understanding he could be, but he was actually following through on what he said? He was really trying to make a team?

           Whatever happened to him, it must have been horrible. Tragic. He must not have ever really recovered from it.

           Seeing Bradshaw, she got the same feeling.

           Beside her, Natasha Trace removed her shirt, not afraid to strip down. “You gonna join the party Maro?”

           Her chest tightened. She knew what she looked like without a shirt on. She shouldn’t. It could raise too many questions. And yet, at this point, she had ruined whatever perception anyone had of her anyway. It wouldn’t matter. They wouldn’t care.

           Kara removed her shirt, revealing her sports bra. Revealing much more than the bra that covered her chest.

           Scars.

           Old wounds that healed in jagged, raised, skin.

           Where she had been shot. Stabbed. Where her ribs had cracked through her skin.

           Taking off her pants, revealing the shorts beneath, the same thing. There was a long scar on her thigh.

           Earned due to her stupidity. Her insufficiencies. If only she had been better.

           The sun reached her pale skin, seeing flesh it hadn’t seen in years.

           Natasha Trace stared at her.

           “Please stop,” Kara whispered, arms around her torso, discomfort settling in.

           Natasha raised her gaze. “You’ve got a story,” she stated. “You don’t have to keep it in. When you stack the lies high enough, they crumble.”

           Kara rubbed the bruise from the IV that was in her right arm. “I signed a confidentiality agreement, Trace. I can’t share it.”

           “Then if you want to keep flying, I suggest you find a way to get it out somehow, because what you’re doing now isn’t working,” she stated, and headed towards the water, where the rest of the team had begun to congregate.

           Kara hesitated, contemplating running in the opposite direction. Contemplating putting on a shirt and hiding forever. But she had to get this team to trust her. Like her.

           Maverick was right. In order to even get to where she needed to get, she had to complete the mission before her own mission. In order to get her mission out, she had to blow up that uranium site. If she didn’t do that, she couldn’t grab her mission.

           She had to get the team to trust her.

           Kara headed to the water, standing beside Natasha, hoping she didn’t mind her lingering beside her after everything.

           “Thank you,” she said offhandedly, “for this morning.”

           Trace side glanced her. “Us girls have to stick together, Maro. There are far too few.”

           She held out her fist.

           Kara bumped it.

           “Let’s kick some ass, yeah?”

           Trace had more enthusiasm than she did. Still, she tried her best, repeating a much less believable “yeah.”

           Rooster and Hangman were the captains of the dogfight football. Rooster picked her right away, the silence that came with it having her shrink in on herself. While Hangman was picking his player, her quietly asked through the side of his mouth, “You good?”

           Everyone knew. Word had to have gotten out.

           “I’m good,” she whispered back.

           “Good,” he nodded. “Fanboy, with me.”

           The teams were decided. Maverick ended up going with Hangman’s team to even everything out. Hondo chose to referee, stating he hated running on concrete, he hated running on sand even more.

           It was chaos when everything started. Sand went flying, two balls were thrown, and then it was a mesh of bodies.

           Somehow. . .she didn’t know how, why, she shouldn’t have done it but it happened. . .Kara relaxed.

           “Fly high, fly high!” Rooster shouted, and she knew the code. Knew what she had to do.

           Fanboy set himself up, and she ran at him, barely glancing at the football to know where she had to go. Fanboy kneeled down, and she stepped on his thigh, using him as a stool and jumping into the air, reaching as high as she could go.

           Rooster threw the ball perfectly. She snatched it, landing softly in the sand, and zipping forward with it tucked under her arm. She dodged under Yale, somersaulted to evade Harvard, Trace rammed into Coyote to keep her path clear - and Kara slammed the football to the ground when Hondo registered her as safe.

           Rooster swept her in his arms and she laughed, enjoying herself. Actually relaxing, Letting loose for the first time in ten years.

           That stopped the very next round, where her opponents prioritized her. Nat had the ball, searching the crowd for an open teammate, and Kara jumped up, offering herself up.

           She didn’t land back on the ground with her feet. She was tackled midair, Harvard digging his shoulder into her stomach and taking her all the way to the ground.

           Maybe it would’ve been fine for any other person with half the medical history she had, but it wasn’t any other person. It was Kara. It was a hard tackle. Her head hit the ground, and she was gone.

           “Uh- ah! AHH!”  She shouldn’t have been so loud but she couldn’t help it, and when she landed, it was hard. The jolt that ran throughout her body, shocked her to her core, it was unlike anything she had ever felt before. She could feel everything, and yet she couldn’t move. She could feel her fingers, feel the cold, but there was a hollow sensation accompanying it, and despite her desire to move them, there was no follow through of the action.

           Stuck on the green grass, unable to convince her body to move, in enemy territory. At this point, it was just another normal mission for Kara.

              “Kara, can you squeeze my hand? Squeeze my hand, come on.”

           She blinked, languid, vision sluggishly returning to her. She first processed how many bodies were around her, and then came the more defined features. The eyebrows, the mouths, the nose. She could identify who was who and she realized she was on the ground, feet elevated via the use of a duffle bag.

           Nat was on her side, Maverick on her other side.

           “Squeeze my hand Kara,” Nat repeated.

           Kara squeezed.

           “Good, can you squeeze Mav’s hand?”

           Kara squeezed. Everyone was watching her. She was making a fool of herself. Maverick would never let her fly if she rolled over after one hit.

           “Fine,” Kara choked out, crunching at her abs, forcing herself to sit upright. “I’m fine,” it was like talking through a mouthful of marshmallows. Her head was on fire right now.

           Nat put a hand on her shoulder. “Take it easy Kara, you passed out again.”

           “Again?” Hangman heard, a flash of anger crossing his features. “This has happened before?”            “Just. . .just thirsty. Dehydrated.”

           “Give her a water! Meathead, a water!” Nat ordered, getting a water, passing it to Kara. Kara grabbed it, head bowed, and drank the warm water. It wasn’t refreshing, but it was water, and there was benefit to drinking it.

           “Do we need to call paramedics?” Maverick asked.

           “No.”

           “Yes! She passed out, the hell do you mean ‘do we need to’?”

           Maverick steeled her with a look. Kara held it, and repeated, “No.”

           Hangman scoffed.

           “I think I hit my head,” Kara whispered, fingers lightly dancing along the back of her head, finding a tender spot and eliciting a wince. “That was all. I hit my head.”

           “You’re out for the rest of the day,” Maverick ordered. “Rest. Take a full rest, no going to the gym for three hours like I know you’ve been doing. We’ll go from there tomorrow, deal?”

           Kara nodded. “Thank you sir.”

           “Phoenix, help her.”

           “Yes sir.”

           Phoenix held her hand, a sturdy form of support. Maverick was on standby in case she fell, which was good, because Kara didn’t have her footing right away. She rose too quickly and her knees buckled. She didn’t make it to the ground, Maverick and Phoenix supported her, but it was just another step in the wrong direction.

           “Are you – “

           “I’m fine! Fine, just, you know, stood too quick,” Kara waved it away, pretending to be alright even as her brain melted, her stomach churned, her heart clenched. “I’m fine,” she repeated, gaze to the sand, and began to walk away. Needing Nat’s support or she’d be on the ground.

           Nat lasted a total of four steps before she spoke, keeping her volume just for the two of them. “You’re not fine, Kara. You’re barely holding it together.”

           Kara turned her head, locking blue with brown. “I just need to complete this mission,” she said, “and then it’ll be over.”

           “Over for good? Or over as in, you won’t return.”

           They got to a picnic table, and even though the wood had grown hot in the summer’s sun, it was good to sit down. To rest her forearms on her knees, to hang her head, and to exhale without straining herself. Her right leg was shaking, a nervous habit that sometimes rose.

           “Do you know why they call me Icarus, Nat?”

           “Because you fly too high?”

           Kara shook her head. “No. . .No. My superiors gave me the name. They chose it because one day, I won’t come back.”

           Nat stilled.

           “Icarus, his story. Him and his dad are escaping from a prison, they make these wings and escape, but Icarus flies too high, the wings melt, and he dies at sea.” Kara took a sip of water. She shrugged. “One day, I’m going to be somewhere that I can’t get out of, and I won’t make it back. That’s why they named me Icarus.”

           Nat looked down at her. “I don’t know how you got into this position, Kara, but I’m sorry. I don’t envy you.”

           Kara shrugged, not pitying her own situation. Unable to, as she chose it. Every step of the way, it had been her decision. “If I were in their shoes,” she said, “I’d want someone to get me. I’m gonna head back to base, okay? I need to try and sleep.”

           “Do you want me to drive you? Should you drive after that?”

           “I’ll be fine Nat, really. It’s a short drive.”

           Nat wasn’t convinced. “Call if you need anything, I mean it.”

           “Yes ma’am.”

           Slow, Kara stood, moving to grab her items. When Nat continued to watch her, hesitating to leave, Kara told her, “you can head back to the game, Nat. Look at them, they’re suffering without you.”

           “Drive safe, Kara.”

           “Kick their asses for me.”

           Kara headed to her car, holding onto her backpack. Her muscles began to tighten from lack of movement and they strained as she pulled her shirt overhead. She wasn’t bothering to put her pants on, the shorts would be fine.

           Getting to her car, she opened the shotgun seat door and set her backpack on the seat. On the opposite side of the car, the drivers seat door opened and a man sat behind the wheel. Kara froze, staring at his profile, not knowing what to do.

           He spoke first. “You’re not driving back after that stunt you pulled.” It wasn’t a suggestion or an offer, it was a matter of fact to him. “Are you going to wait all day?” He asked, holding his hand out for the key.

           Kara looked at her keys, slow in processing that this was happening. He was here, right in front of her. He was going to drive her back.

           Did he still care about her? Was it really not totally ruined? Did she maybe have a chance –

           No. She couldn’t do that to him a second time. Maybe he didn’t utterly despise her, but she had hurt him enough. It was best to accept the kind act and expect nothing more.

           Kara moved her bag to the floor, and sat in the seat, passing over her keys. The music was quiet when the car started, a perfect volume for her to get out, “Thank you.”

           He reversed and shifted into drive to leave the parking lot. Hangman’s hand stayed on the gearshift like this was a manual and he needed to.

           “I promised to always have your back,” he stated, “even if you don’t have mine, I’m a man of my word.”

           Kara was silent.

           “I know what you’ve been telling people. Phoenix, Rooster. They both told me what you said.”

           “I promise I didn’t say anything to them, they don’t know – “

           He cut her off. “You told them it was your fault.” Kara closed her mouth. She had told them that. “You told them that you did leave me.” His knuckles whitened, grip tightening on the wheel. The vein in his neck popped with his rising emotions. “My only question is why. Why did you do it? Don’t give me any of that bullshit you’ve been giving everyone else. It’s just you and me. After everything we had been through, you owe me an honest answer.”

           An honest answer. Her confidentiality agreement wrapped around her throat, tightening and cutting off her air. She looked down at her hands, trying to figure out what to do. She looked to her right, into the distance where the sun reflected on the medium blue water. The smell of saltwater air wafted to them; it practically marked all the land.

           “You had orders, Hangman,” Kara finally whispered, thumbs fiddling, eyes red. “But. . .But I had different orders. A different mission. They told me the night before we went out, so,” her lower lip quivered, “so it was real. I promise you, that year was real.”

           She thought with how long the silence stretched for he wasn’t going to respond. Whether he was just processing everything, or more likely, he just didn’t believe her. He probably thought she was just adding another lie onto the stack of things and couldn’t wait to see it topple.

           But then he spoke again. “You get all those marks from that mission?”

           “No.”

           “Multiple missions?”

           “Yes.”

           “How many?”

           “9.”

           They pulled onto base where the car became silent. He walked alongside her to the barracks, close enough where she thought he expected her to pass out again. Selfishly, a small part of her enjoyed how close he was. She wanted to hold his hand, his arm, anything, just to pretend it was ten years ago again.

           But they were never going to be the people they were again.

           AC chilled them in the barracks. Part of her wished her room never came up, but it did, soon. Too soon.

           He left her at her door, not stopping, heading away and she watched him, heart aching. What she did next was stupid, but she had been making a lot of stupid decisions lately.

           “Jake.”

           At his name, he stopped. Six rooms down, back to her, he stopped. Her only indication he was listening.

           “You were, and always will be, my biggest regret.” Cruel words, she knew as much by the way his entire body subtly locked up. “Everything I did with you was a mistake, and I am so sorry I did that to you. I never should have fallen for you, I never should have dreamed with you. . .”

           His words were cold, barely held together. “You said it was real,” he said, tight, restrained, hands balled into fists. “And now you call me a mistake?”

           “I know what I did to you Jake, so if I could go back and stop it from ever happening, I would.”

           He pivoted, green eyes burning. “You gotta lotta nerve saying shit like that Maro. Am I really not worth putting any effort in? Is this all a joke, another lie?”

           “What? No! What’re you talking about?!”

           “I’m just trying figure out what the hell you’re doing! Am I reading the signs wrong, did I spend ten years still loving you while you moved on? Or am I reading the signs right, and you still love me? Because it has to be one of those, Kara, and I’m done guessing.”

           Tears blurred her vision. Her shoulders sagged, body fatigued with all the emotional and physical chaos that had been returning to Miramar.

           Her voice shook when she asked, “You still love me?”

           He scoffed. “Of course I still love you! Even after that shitstorm of a mission you were the best thing that ever happened to me, the highlight of my fucking existence!” He ran a hand through his hair, grabbing the ends and shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what he was saying. “Christ Kara you think I faked any of it? You think I ever lied to you?”

           “No!”

           “Then why do you think I could just get over you?”

           “Well why didn’t you!” Her volume raised, a question in her mind that boiled her blood. “You think you deserved to feel like this? Fuck Jake, you deserved to move on, to find someone that loved you like you deserved, that would always be by your side! You deserved to start a family with someone!”

           “I wanted that with you!” His voice raised to match hers.

           “You deserve someone better!”

           “I just want you Kara!” He shouted, and she stilled, jolted to her very core. “Why is that so hard to understand? I just. Want. You.”

           The tears slipped, and once again, she couldn’t stop herself. One second she was standing there, defeated, not knowing what to do, the next her arms were around him and she was squeezing him tight.

           “You are worth it,” she whispered to him, sniffling, tears hot. “You’re worth everything Jake, I’ll do whatever it takes to make things right. I promise, I swear, everything else be damned. I’ll make things right.”

           Warm arms lightly wrapped around her, sealing her in. His head rested on top of hers, and she shut her eyes, feeling a glimpse of peace for the first time in ten years.

[green-ville]

The Story of Icarus (3)

         Synopsis: Orders are orders, and in the military, orders get followed. Many thought she disobeyed orders, every mission she went on was the same. She arrived, she trained, she disobeyed – she got pulled out when she returned to get the reprimand of her life and what should have been a threat of dishonorable discharge. The team never saw her again, and that’s why she could continue on. Only, this mission brought her back to a figure of her past, and dots get connected.

           Her name is Kara Maro. Her orders are simple. Get Maverick to trust her and get on the uranium mission.

 -------

Chapter 3: Medic

             Kara didn’t know why she took her pills anymore. She didn’t think they had been helping for some time now. Yet they were part of her routine, so she opened up each container that was supposed to help with the same issue, she swallowed them dry, and she got ready for the day.

           They started in the hangar, going through a quick lecture that was unlike anything she had ever sat through before. Maverick was a different style of leader, but she couldn’t discredit his skill. Waiting around in the watchtower for her turn to fly again, she listened as he took them all down.

           “Rooster and Icarus, you’re up next,” Hondo radioed in.

           Wordlessly, Kara headed to the door.

           “Well, this’ll be a pair,” Hangman said, sitting in a chair, awaiting his turn, arms relaxed over his chest.

           Kara stopped, hand on the doorknob. The bags under her eyes had never been deeper. She was messing everything up, not even trying to keep up appearances at this point. She had to do well on this trial flight, after a week of mistakes, she needed a win.

           She faced him, meeting those sharp green eyes that she once thought could never look at her that way.

             She laughed, stomach cramping from how much she had been doing that. Her nose scrunched up, and she ended up bending backwards, an unintentional snort leaving her.

           “Did you just snort?”

           “Shut-“ her giggles kept breaking through, eyes watery. “Shut up!”

           “You snorted!” he laughed, wrapping his arms around her waist, smiling down at her. “Sounded just like the pigs back home.”

           “Are you seriously comparing me to a pig?”

           “No, multiple.”

           She whacked his shoulder. “That’s not very Texan charm of you.”

           “Caring for those animals back home was the best part of my childhood,” he admitted to her, speaking just for her. Her arms came to wrap around his neck, nails lightly scratching the base of his blond hair. “My parents never went anywhere near them.”

           She frowned at that, looking up at him while he looked past her. Staring into the horizon, where golden sun reflected in his green irises and made them dazzling. It was like looking into stained glass.

           “Hey,” she whispered softly, rising higher, onto her tip toes, moving her hands to cup his jaw. Bringing him to focus on her. “You have me now. We’ll get through everything together.”

           “You promise to not get sick of me?”

           “I would never.” She brought him down, kissing him. Short. Pulling away a hairs length, so close and so wrapped up in him that it felt like it was only them. “I love you.”

           “I love you too.”

                       “I’m sorry.”

           The words were out before she could stop them. They were loud enough for him to hear, and there was anger. He stood, muscles flexing in his arms as he tried to control his anger. He pointed a finger at her, the world so quiet they could’ve heard a pin drop.

           “You don’t get to apologize,” he snapped. “Not after everything you lied about –“

           “I didn’t lie about everything,” Kara whispered. “I- “ she choked on the words. She didn’t even get a sound out the second time she tried to speak. He was staring at her, expecting something.

           They were all staring at her.

           She couldn’t do it.

           Tears clouded her vision.

           She twisted the doorknob and left, hearing another scoff. Her shaking hands were quick to wipe the tears.

           Mask. Get the mask on. Convince the Captain. She had to fly this mission.

           The tears stopped. She could hear Rooster’s boots behind her.

           Her shoulders pushed back. Her back straightened. Her head raised.

           Mask on.

           Kara had to fly this mission. There was nothing but the mission.

           Outside, the hot sun invaded her uniform with an immediate layer of sweat. The cool breeze was the only relief.

           “What the hell happened between you two?” Rooster asked, voice cutting through her fog. Bringing her back into reality.

           Her voice was steel. “None of your business.”

           “Sure as hell seem to be making it everyone’s business.”

           “What happened between you and Maverick?” Kara asked right back, pivoting, stopping him in his tracks. “I’ve been listening to you, Bradshaw. You and the Captain have shit you’re not even trying to work out – “

           “Oh, and you are?” Rooster shot right back. “It’s a scene every time you and him are in the same room!”

           “Because I can’t fix it!”  Kara screamed back, angry, so pissed off it wasn’t even funny. If she could, she’d be in hysterics. It was only a matter of time. Rooster stopped, surprised. “I can’t you asshole, because unlike you, I have a confidentiality agreement that binds me to secrecy! And no matter how much I want to tell him all about it to fix things, I can’t,” the words broke out of her, tears once again in her eyes.

           Her mask had never fallen so easily. She was losing her touch. She had to get a grip!

           “I can’t,” she whispered, looking down, wiping her eyes.

           He stood there, processing, waiting, finally speaking. “Why are you still here, Icarus? Why don’t you drop out? What’s driving you to put up with all of this?”

           “I have to.”

           “Why?”

           “I have to fly this mission.”

           “Why?”

           “Why do you?” Kara challenged back, lower lip quivering. Hands shaking.

           “He pulled my papers,” Rooster revealed. His body was tense, he was uncomfortable revealing this. He kept going anyway. “Mav pulled my papers, set me back years in my career. I have to fly this mission to prove myself to him.”

           There was a deeper relationship there. Something that had to have been similar to her and Hangman, and yet it was different. They both shared pasts with these people. Trusted them, loved them. The difference was, Rooster was betrayed, Kara betrayed.

           “My dad was a pilot too,” Rooster whispered. “I. . .I never got the chance to make him proud.”

           His dad died. She could see his entire story right now. Died at a young age, tried to do everything right by living up to his name, and got set back. He was just trying to do right by his dad.

           Rooster had to fly this mission.

           Kara shook her head, wiping the tears again. “I’m not like you Rooster. Jake. . .Jake never did anything wrong. I was the one that messed up. I had orders, I followed them, I kept them from him.”

           “Tell him that.”

           “It’s too late Rooster,” Kara said, turning away. Walking to her jet. “What’s done is done. Some wounds scar too deep.”

           He caught up to her easy, his legs longer, his gait larger. “So where do we go from here, Icarus. I have to fly this mission too.”

           “Then we need to seal our places on this team, Rooster.”

           “You got a plan?”

           “50% of one.”

           “Let’s see if I can fill in that other half.”

           Maverick liked to wait. He prowled where he couldn’t be seen, waited for emotions or the pilots cockiness to get the better of them, and then he attacked.

           Not this time. No more.

           Rooster and Icarus began to bicker.

           Maverick lightly butt in, just to stir the pot more.

           Rooster took Mavericks bait –

           Attack!

           Icarus broke away, abandoning her wingman.

           She could see everything playing out. She watched it come to fruition, watched Maverick and Rooster spiral towards the ground. Neither breaking away. Going as far as breaking hard deck. Maverick had to break away first. . . –

           He broke!

           Rooster broke a second after, but Icarus was already there. Locking on him. Hearing the alarm sound their victory.

           Rooster locked in right after.

           Icarus smiled, went as far as laughing. She removed her mask, breathing in the stale air of the canopy, a weight lifted off her shoulders because finally, finally! One step in the right direction.

           “We got him Rooster.”

           “Yes we did Icarus.”

           “. . .Was I just set up?” Even Maverick sounded like he had a smile on his face, as if he was proud of his pupils.

           “Yes sir,” Icarus exhaled, smiling, unable to stop. She would fly this mission. She could do it. “Yes you were. Exceptional flying Rooster,” she praised, breaking away, returning to base.

           “You too Icarus.”

             “Icarus, a word?”

           Kara turned, hearing her Captain, stopping as he caught up to her. They stood at the same height, and yet she felt smaller around him. With the sun to his back, she was in his shadow.

           “Yes sir?”

           “I wanted to talk with you about,” he came off as awkward again. Like this was his least favorite part of being a leader. He tilted his head side to side, “about your relationship with the others.”

           Kara’s blood ran cold. “What about it, sir?”

           “This mission you’re all training for, you know it won’t be easy. Hopefully I’ve conveyed that in my briefings.”

           “You have, sir.”

           “Good, good. . .You need to be a team to pass it,” he stated, like he ended all his briefings. “You need that bond, that trust, otherwise you can’t fly it.”

           Her hands began to shake. She put them behind her back, squaring her shoulders, raising her chin. “You’re saying I’m not on track to be a member of the squad.”

           “You have the skill, and the determination.” All of them had that. She was just as standard as the rest of them! She had to be better, damnit, she wasn’t making any progress! “Your passion is. . .I see how driven you are, Maro. But if you can’t be a teammate, that’s where my concern is. What you did with Rooster today was good. However the two of you came up with it, I want to see more of it. You relied on each other. You knew each other’s strengths and weaknesses and you capitalized on them. But do that with the others. 4 aviators will fly this mission, and that means 4 angles of trust.”

           “I’ll do it sir,” her voice had cracked. She steeled it now. “I will do it sir. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

           His lips pinched. “I – “ he cut himself off. He restarted. “I really shouldn’t be saying this, so let’s call it off the books. . .the mission is not everything, Maro. Your team is everything. That person flying alongside you. I once had a very wise mentor tell me, if you fly long enough, you’ll lose a wingman. I don’t want to see that happen to you. No matter what you do, you never really recover.”

           He lost a wingman.

           Was it a coincidence that Rooster, someone half his age, was connected to him, and sounded like he had lost a parent? Kara had never believed in coincidences that extensive.

           Kara smiled, heart crushing. “Too late sir,” her lower lip quivered, “ready lost mine.”

           Maverick showcased her pain better, not hiding it behind a smile like she was. “In that case, I’m sorry.”

           “Don’t be. I still get to see him, he’s just. . .he’s just not mine anymore. I. . . I need to go. May I be dismissed?”

           Not normal protocol to ask for a dismissal. Regular commanding officers would probably send her to do something stupid for her request, like vacuum a parking lot. Maverick was different, because he nodded.

           “Dismissed, Lieutenant Commander.”

           “Thank you, sir.”

           Kara ran.

             “Icarus, I can’t shake him!”

           She saw it. She watched him evade, but he never lost the bogey. The pilot kept him in his sight with a level of expertise that came with years of experience. A professional while they, despite where they graduated from, where still new to this.

           “Icarus, where are you?!”

           The mission. She had to complete the mission.

           Jake or the mission.

           Her decision.

           Both needed her. Which was she going to assign priority to? Which would she choose? What would be the consequences of her actions? What did the future entail if she chose wrong today? Both options presented horrible outcomes and she didn’t want to experience them. She didn’t want to do this anymore!

           Lives were on the line and she was wasting time!

           Jake could take care of himself – he was calling for her help! What if the mission called for her help too? What if they were already dead because of her indecisiveness?

           She wanted to go home!

           “ICARUS!”

           Kara broke away, abandoning her wingman for the first, but not the last, time.

             Kara surged up in bed, sweating, skin crawling, breathing accelerated. Panic seized her heart and she scoured the room, looking in on the newcomer. Her roommate.

           Kara wasn’t ten years in the past anymore. She wasn’t making a decision that would ruin her mind. She was in a bed. She was safe.

           Phoenix. Natasha Trace, with the hallway light to her back, casting her front in a shadow. She wore civvies, the time was 0200. She had just come back from the bar. The bar she should have been at to get the others to like her, trust her. She gave up. Maverick just told her she had a chance if she got the others to like her and instead she gave up!

           She wasn’t going to fly this mission. She was messing everything up! Death would be on her hands.

           “Are you okay?” Trace asked, watching her, clouded in darkness.

           Kara’s breathing refused to slow. She was covered in a disgusting amount of sweat, her thin sheets tangled from her fighting with them. That tingling in her hands returned. It was crawling up her arms.

           “I – I – “

           “Breathe, Kara,” Trace stated, coming closer. “You’re safe.”

           “I – “

           Trace sat down. “You are safe.”

           Tears pooled.

           Her hands were shaking. She couldn’t feel them. Her fingers were frozen, stuck in place. She wanted to move them and she couldn’t. The feeling crawled up her arms. All the way to her shoulders. Could she feel her toes?

           “Kara, you are safe.”

           The tears poured.

           Natasha grabbed her, holding her tight, but Kara wasn’t moving. She couldn’t move –

           Her body slacked.

           Natasha felt the difference and pulled away, holding Kara’s shoulders. Her head sagged, and Natasha set her back down, onto the bed. Laying her flat.

           “Maro?” Natasha asked, shaking her shoulders. “KARA?” She shouted, panic consuming her.

           Unresponsive.

           “MEDIC! SOMEONE GET A MEDIC!”

[green-ville]

The Story of Icarus (2)

        Synopsis: Ten years ago she made the biggest mistake of her life, and it defined her behaviors for every mission after that. She did what she did to not only protect herself, but protect others, so there never was another Jake Seresin. Ruining him was the most cruel thing she had ever done. 

       Now Kara Maro is back in Miramar, with orders to get on the uranium mission, and Jake Seresin is there. Her past is no longer buried, and it is jeopardizing her mission. 

Chapter 2: Hate Me More

-----

          “What do you mean, a complication?” Her superior asked, voice quiet, deep over the phone. “You haven’t been there a day and you’ve already messed up?”

          “Someone from my past is here, sir. They remember me. They could jeopardize my ability to get a spot on the squad, sir.”

          “Do I hear you correctly, Lieutenant Commander? You’re calling me over the possibility that someone could jeopardize you? Get your shit together and get your place on the squad, your orders haven’t changed.”

          Click.

                    Kara arrived last second. This wasn’t how she normally performed, but this was a measure she was taking to avoid the issue as long as possible. The less time she could interact with Jake Seresin, the better.

          It worked for a total of five seconds as she entered the hanger.

          “Watch your back Coyote, you might get stabbed,” he said it loud enough for the entire room to get quiet. She avoided his gaze because it wouldn’t be anything new.

          It would be a glare, one she couldn’t even say she didn’t deserve.

          Out of all her missions, that one was the worst. It was her first, after all. Kara had completed the mission, but without a mask. Without taking care to avoid too personal of attachments. She hadn’t even attempted, actually.

          She had hurt him in a way she never hurt anyone else. When she abandoned the rest of her teammates, they expected it from her. When she had abandoned him. . .

          Kara sat down in the back, as far away from him as she could get.

          “Cowboy, is this because of that one night together? Because I moved on.”

          She knew the word in his head because it was the same one in her own. Bitch. She couldn’t deny that she was being one just like she couldn’t deny deserving every snip that came her way. She had no right to snip back, and yet, for this mission, she did. The reasons she hated herself, her life, were many, and she only ever added to the pile.

          Whistles sounded in the air, several boys laughing at her quip. She thought about punching each and every one of them, but knew she was displacing her anger. She didn’t hate them. She needed them to like her. She hated herself for hurting Hangman more. She had hurt him enough the first time around.

          “And I thought Hangman was cocky,” Bradley Bradshaw remarked, not even offering a glance behind him to face her when he talked about her.

          Her head cocked to the side, staring at the back of his head. “Not surprised you’re joining the conversation late, Bradshaw. You’re ten minutes late on everything you do.”

          “How low is your self-esteem that the only thing you can do is snark?” He asked back, not only stealing her Queen, but beheading her King in the process.

          Check-fucking-mate.

          "Attention on deck."

          They all stood; fighter jets blew past the control tower on the opposite side of the landing strip. Her hands balled at her side, tingles in her numb fingers. Stars blinked in her vision and she unlocked her knees so she didn’t pass out.

          Two men walked into the hanger. One darker skinned, one lighter skinned, but they were inevitably the same man. Top Gun graduates. Hardened by years in the service, as evidenced by their tough but lean muscle. Their salt speckled hair. Their skin that thinned with old age, but remained hard because of the steel beneath it.

          "Sit," the first man ordered as they arrived. They did, in unison, a smooth sound. "I'm Admiral Bates, nautical commander." He looked to them all, sweeping through their faces, glancing over each of them without really caring who they were, just what they could do. "You're all Top Gun graduates, elite. Success, now more than ever, comes down to the man or woman in the box."

          Ironic, seeing as drones were threatening to replace them. Maybe not her position yet, but how long would it be before the standard pilot wasn’t needed at all? There goes job security.  

          Footsteps sounded from behind her.

          "His exploits are legendary, and he's considered to be one of the finest pilots this program has ever produced."

          But he’s been a Captain for 30 years, Kara continued in her head, remembering the verbal report she received, because he preferred to fly. He had the tendency to disobey orders and get away with it due to his guardian angel, Admiral Tom ‘Iceman’ Kazansky.

          "I give you," Admiral Bates continued, "Captain Pete 'Maverick' Mitchell."

          The man she had met yesterday walked past her. The other pilots looked, regret settling on them like an old friend.

          Kara wasn’t any different, the regret was always there, she just wore it with a smirk and a spark in her blue eyes.

          “Coyote and Icarus, you’re up first.”

          Kara nodded to the Captain. Hangman turned to his friend and warned him, for everyone to hear, “watch your back, because she won’t.”

          “I got this man, he’s been a Captain for 30 years. That says something about his flying,” ‘discretely’ whispered back. “And they probably kept her in to meet their quota of women, anyway.”

          Her jaw clenched. All her muscles tightened and she pivoted, heading to her jet before she ripped off someone’s head. Sitting in the cockpit, there was a long moment of staring. Staring at the controls, the yoke, not processing anything because she was in her head. Always trapped in her head, even when it looked like she was fully involved in a conversation.

          “Break left, break left!”

          “Copy, breaking left!”

          “Icarus don’t!”

          BANG!

                    “Icarus, where’re you going? That isn’t part of the mission!”

          “Just having a bit of fun!”

          “Icarus return to formation!”

          “Icarus, bogey on your six! I repeat – NO!”

                    “Get rapid! She’s lost a pint of blood, type A negative. Johnson, get a second IV stat, her blood pressure is dropping – “

          “Maro!”

          Kara snapped out of it. Her hands were clammy. Her heart was palpitating, she could feel the beats against her chest. She struggled to swallow and her mouth was dry. Sluggishly, her head raised, staring at the man down below.

          Hondo.

          “Where’s your head Lieutenant Commander? Are you clear for take off or not?”

          Take off. Coyote. Maverick. Prove yourself. Get on the mission. Nothing was more important than the mission.

          She had to fly this mission.

          Shaking hands grabbed the yoke.

          “Yes sir,” the canopy began to seal her in. “Ready sir.”

          Helmet on, mask on, metaphorical and physical. Coyote was quiet, she had no intention of breaking it. Maverick was the first to speak once they had been in the air for several minutes.

          “Quiet morning,” he remarked, nowhere to be seen and she was scanning. Looking ahead, behind, up, as down as she could. “Hope this doesn’t interfere with anyone’s flying.”

          “I’m sure my flying will be just fine sir,” it was the type of pointed that was clearly meant to be a dig at her.

          Maverick chuckled. “Any past history I should know about aviators?”

          Kara tipped left, spotting him when she tipped right.

          “No sir,” she cut Coyote off. “We’re all adults here and I’m sure we can act like it.”

          “You haven’t abandoned me yet so you’re off to a phenomenal start,” he snapped. Maverick was coming towards them, a sneak attack from down below. Kara waited, breathing slow, heart pounding, chest tight. Getting closer. Coyote finished, “But that seems to be setting the bar low – “

          “Break left!” She shouted, breaking right, just in time for Maverick to blow past.

          “Wha – WOAH!”

          Maverick chuckled. “Are we flying or are we making passive aggressive comments at each other?”

          “I can multitask,” Kara snapped, breathing through her gut as she turned, course correcting, spotting her Captain, her supposed wingman. “You tryna get shot down Coyote? They give you a land animals name cause you’re always grounded?”

          “They give you yours because of your ego?”

          Maverick evaded her and she gave up chase, not wanting to get too far off track. She needed to find her stupid wingman so they could plan an actual attack and not get shot down. Kara broke away, slipping lower, closer to their set hard deck, losing track of her Captain.

          “I bet you’d like to think it, now where the hell are you? We can’t take him if we’re split.”

          “Don’t tell me, you’re trying to be a wingman right now? I thought you liked to fly solo.”

          “And I suppose I can’t learn from my mistakes? It was ten years ago, people change.”

          “I’m gonna call bull on that one.”

          “Then have fun dying, asshat.”

          “What?”

          The alarm sounded. Maverick got a lock on Coyote.

          It wasn’t long before Maverick locked on her too. Even with her best flying, he was better. She gave 110% after Coyote started his return to the runway, and he locked on her with laughable ease. It wasn’t that she hadn’t tried. She had tried. He was still better. She still failed. A step away from securing her spot on this mission.

          And it didn’t matter that the rest of the aviators failed the rest of the day too. It didn’t matter that they were all equal by the end of the day. Kara Maro was supposed to be better. Kara Maro had to be better. She had to fly this mission, there was a life at stake. There was always a life at stake.

          The day was over. Most were off base getting a drink at the bar. Kara should have been there. Kara should have been making friends, getting them to like her, to trust her. Keeping distance because the version of her they liked. . .

          Maybe it was the real her at this point. She didn’t remember her old self. Maybe this was no longer a mask, and she had actually become this person. This person she hated more than anything because they didn’t care about what truly mattered to themselves, and only cared about the mission. Maybe she had been this person for several years now, and was only realizing it now that the past had come to haunt her.

          Kara stayed on base. Kara read up on evasive maneuvers. She went to the gym, running until her legs shook. Running until she was lightheaded and collapsed to the ground, practically hyperventilating with how much air she needed to get in. Sweat dropped down, blobbing onto the dark mat, staining it darker.

          Standing, her legs still shook, but she wasn’t done. She had to be better. So she picked up the weights, and she continued her workout.

          Kara must’ve been too wrapped up in her head, when her back was tapped, she dropped down from the pull up bar. Saving pull ups for when her muscles were already noodles, it was a ballsy move. Her form was terrible, her strength depleted, she did it anyway.

          Twisting, removing her earbuds, she was met with Natasha Trace in her civvies.

          No greeting of hello. Straight to business. “What the hell happened between you two?”

          Kara moved past her, going for the free weights. Squaring her shoulders, watching her form in the mirror, and starting her alternating rear lunges. “Mind your business, Trace.”

          “I do mind my business,” she stood right beside Kara, arms crossed, looking down. “Your business becomes my business when it jeopardizes my position as a member of this squad.”

          “I didn’t do shit to you – “

          “Whatever went on between you and Hangman is splitting everyone, and staying neutral isn’t working. Now I have every intention of flying this mission, and your feud will not get in my way. So what happened, and how are you going to work through it?” Trace demanded. “Because like you said, we’re all adults, and we can act like it.”

          The weight became too much, and her rear knee hit the ground hard, instead of a light brush before she surged back up. For three breaths she stayed down, jaw clenched, knuckles white around the weights.

          “You hate Hangman, not staying neutral, is it?” Kara asked, finally getting back up, slowly going to return her weights. Sore, slow, so tired. She had only done three reps.

          “He’s left me in the air too many times to not hold resentment. He broke my trust.”

          Kara turned, locking tired eyes on the brunette. “Then hate me too. Hate me more. He wasn’t like that before me.” Kara moved closer, watching the confusion, the uncertainty. She was trying to piece her flat words together. Nothing was adding up. What she was saying, how she was saying it with such a flat, emotionless voice, paired with that empty face. It was like talking to a machine. “I abandoned him in the air, and that started his trust issues. So cut him some slack and redirect your anger.”

          Kara left the gym, left Trace behind. She kept her head down, trapped in the eternal prison that was her mind. She should have passed out as soon as she hit the uncomfortable bed, but that never happened anymore. She hadn’t slept well in years.

[green-ville]

The Story of Icarus

       Synopsis: Ten years ago she made the biggest mistake of her life, and it defined her behaviors for every mission after that. She did what she did to not only protect herself, but protect others, so there never was another Jake Seresin. Ruining him was the most cruel thing she had ever done. 

       Now Kara Maro is back in Miramar, with orders to get on the uranium mission, and Jake Seresin is there. Her past is no longer buried, and it is jeopardizing her mission. 

Chapter 1: The Past is No Longer In The Past

-----

          Miramar was like every other place she had been stationed. The people, the regular sites, the routine. The monotony of the life Kara lived weighed on her. Always the same mission. Always the same role. Always the same end.

          Go to a bar, the one most often frequented by her soon to be teammates that thought she was one of them. Get them to know her alter. Her mask that she wore more than her normal face, making it harder and harder to remember her real self. She was already being presented with her way in, even before officially meeting the famed captain. It was easy. Practice had made this that way.

          Kara turned off her car and got out, a thin glisten of sweat on her tanned skin. She had changed out of her beiges, they were off the first chance she got. She walked to the man that had been tossed out of the bar, and offered a hand to him. He looked at her, his first time taking note of her, and accepted the hand.

          “Tough crowd?” She asked, mechanical conversation that sounded as much.

          He cracked a smile, not because he found it stomach achingly hilarious, but because he needed a way to brush off the red heat of his cheeks. “Youngsters, always ready to jump at a chance to mess with the. . .” he was going to say superiors, she could hear the word on the tip of his tongue. He stopped himself, changing it. “Mess with their elders.”

          He seemed awkward calming himself an elder. The same awkward tone that matched ‘youngsters’.

          “Pilots are cocky, don’t let them get to you.”

          “You know them?” He knew her, her file must’ve been in his report. Now he was trying to gauge what she knew.

          Kara shook her head. “No, but I was brought here for the same reason they were.”

          “You’re a pilot too?”

          “Yes.”

          “So when you called them cocky, were you also calling yourself cocky?”

          “Yes.” She paused, and gave a wink to match the rest of her personality. Easy, relaxed, allusive. It made the man blink, questioning her move, what it was possibly revealing. Then she finished up with “Sir,” and he gave her a real smirk. One card revealed, but she held a deck he couldn’t imagine.

          “Are you trying to get on the teachers good side before this even starts?”

          She gave him a smirk of her own. “I told you I was cocky sir. I’ll get this mission without having to kiss your ass. With all due respect, sir.”

          “Well then I can’t wait to see you in the air, Lieutenant Commander Maro.”

          “It’ll be an absolute treat Captain Mitchell.”

          They parted ways, Kara finally entering the bar. Standard play; go get a drink. Don’t start a tab, pay for the drink right there. She only intended to have one anyway.

          The beer was cold and tasteless, she had never cared for the drink and only partook for the sense of unanimity. It was all part of the set up.

          Drink in hand, she assessed the scene.

          Pilots all around the pool table. Just as expected, all fresh faces, but there was a sense of recognition anyway. She had gotten some information on them. A glimpse at their faces, a peak at their histories and accomplishments. Enough for her to control the situation.

          Natasha Trace. . . .Brad Bradshaw, a man with an unfortunate name and even more unfortunate mustache. Javy Machado. . . Reuben Fitch. . .Those were the big ones. Those were the ones that would compete for a spot on this mission with a legitimate chance of getting it. They had the record, the motivation. . .who was Bradshaw talking to?

          She got a glimpse of the uniform, it was another pilot. And blond hair, but then Trace cut off her view and she couldn’t see. Kara moved, stepping closer, diagonally to get out of the blocked view.

          She spotted him the same time he spotted her, and Kara did something she hadn’t done in a while.

          Frozen in spot.

          That smirk with that damn toothpick. The tan skin without any sign of a tan line because like hell would this man allow himself a bad tan. The blond hair styled meticulously. It may not look like much, but this man cared about his appearance and you could be damn sure he took time on his hair.

          The green eyes that locked on her, the brows that pinched in a breath of confusion, and then that surprise. The smirk slipped sideways.

          Bradshaw began to turn, and Jake Seresin stepped forward, pushing past him. Never breaking away from her and she should have, but she couldn’t. She cut herself off from each past mission with an abrupt slice. A clean chop that hurt, but she did it enough to be desensitized. So long as she never revisited it, and she didn’t. She never went back, never reflected. . .

          “No way they let you back,” that same Texan accent too. It was just like ten years ago, her first mission. . .so many mistakes.

          All attention was on her and she wasn’t in control. She needed to regain control quickly.

          The mask slid into place. Eyelids partially lowered, covering the tops of her pupils to give her a relaxed, almost sultry look. Her lips pulled into a flicker of a smile, she sipped her beer to come off as unbothered.

          “Hey there Hangman,” Kara greeted, leaning against a wooden post beside another pilot, who also twisted to look at her. Watching her just like everyone else was. The world outside the pilots had all faded away. “Miss me?” She winked too, just to add fuel to the forest fire that burned inside him.

          He fixed a glare so potent she should have gone to the hospital for antivenom. It chilled her. She wanted to leave. This wasn’t going how it was supposed to and she knew how to handle the uncomfortable. She knew how to get out of tough situations. But this was a figure from her past. She could no longer leave and forget. It was coming back and feelings she didn’t want to revisit – couldn’t revisit, were resurfacing. She had to kill it now. That was how she survived. She detached herself from what she did, and Jake Seresin re-entering her life was not allowing her to detach.

          “What the hell are you doing here Icarus.”

          “Same thing as you Cowboy.”

          He stepped closer again, two feet away now. Almost a foot taller than her and twice her size. Her shoulders squared back, defiance coursing through her as her body coursed with fight or flight. This could make or break her mission, right here right now. She had to fix things. This one was too important to mess up.

          “No way in hell they let you back after the shit you pulled.”

          “I take it you two know each other?” Natasha Trace asked, a leisurely smile on her face, enjoying seeing the turmoil.

          Kara took the opportunity. “I got Hangman his air-to-air kill.”

          His jaw tightened. “You didn’t get me shit.” Snapped back.

          “How’d you do it?” Trace asked, looking at her, ignoring Hangman.

          Hangman beat her to it, voice deep, heavy, overwhelmed with hate to the point the hairs on her arms raised. “She left me in the air.”

          The silence was deafening. He was ruining everything before it could truly begin. “You and I remember that day very differently, Hangman. And remind me, whose callsign refers to them always leaving their teammates to hang?”

          “Don’t you dare think you can put that on me,” another step closer, right in front of her because of his stupidly long legs. She could feel the heat radiating off of him and got warm. Too warm. She wanted to leave. She wished she never got this mission and yet, out of any of them, it was the one she could turn down the least. If she even had the option to turn it down.

          “You left me, after everything,” he was whispering now and it made it all the worse. The memories were too much, she always buried them after the mission was over and he was. . .he was a tsunami. Of course it was him. Out of all of her old teammates, it was him.

          Why did it have to be him?

          Kara turned, pivoted right on her foot and did the same thing she had done ten years ago. She left him. This time it wasn’t planned. It was an action she couldn’t stop. She had to leave before she did something stupid.

          She heard the scoff, a mix between the anger but lack of surprise he felt. He was likely thinking how in character this was for her. To just leave. Leave like she had ten years ago.

          Abandon him after everything they had. . .

          How long had her hand been shaking?

          She left her beer on a table. She left the bar. At some point, she got in front of her car, just stared at that door that wasn’t even locked. Easy to get into. She just had to open the stupid door.

          Her hearing had left her. The outside world didn’t exist, memories flooding her. Waterboarding her. Both hands started to shake. She had learned so much from that mission. How she had to change personalities so she didn’t get hurt. How she couldn’t get too attached otherwise when she left, it would hurt that much more. She lied for a reason, and it was because that first mission. Before she wore the mask. Before she knew how to survive.

          She was sweaty, clammy, and then she was jogging.

          Leaving her car behind because she needed movement. She couldn’t jog or run as fast as a car obviously, but the wind blowing through her sweaty hair? The burn in her muscles as she went from a jog to a run with muscles that still ached from earlier’s PT?

          Kara ran, knowing it was pointless. Knowing she couldn’t escape seeing him again tomorrow because this was her mission.

          She had to get on this mission. She had to fly. And just like always, she had to betray her team. It had gotten easier over the years. She stopped forming attachments, but this one was pre-existing. This wound had never healed. This gaping cut tore across her chest and her heart pounded, it ached, it cried for her biggest regrets.

          Kara ran faster, tears pricking her eyes.

[green-ville]

Please tell me that there is going to be a quiet pt ll??

Ill start thinking of a plot but i can't promise anything soon! Im on a trip for J term and don't have my laptop, and when we get back school starts up. But I'll try!