i think i can fix that.

Of course, life has ways to force you to confront those feelings of helplessness, Elinor has found. When the library elevator pinged to let Tinley in, the teacher just smiled tightly and gave a polite nod, knowing they'd get off on the next floor anyways. When the elevator shakes and buzzes with electricity and stops moving altogether? They can't do much else besides cling to the wall and hope it stops soon, or else they are going to be in for a long, awkward talk.

"Damn. Power's blown."

@acommonfairy

Tinley had only popped into the library to gather a selection of horror DVDs for the Lost Boys' summerween marathon. In and out and back to her other errands for the day. Simple.

Nothing about this was simple.

She'd been grateful Elinor hadn't tried to reach out to her again, that their paths hadn't crossed in the last few months, because at least she could avoid questions she couldn't answer. And it kept Elinor safe.

Though that relief hadn't stopped her from missing Elinor. It wasn't often she developed new friendships, especially outside the Boys. But, as their last interaction had proven, maybe that was for the best.

The moment she'd stepped onto the elevator with Elinor, unease had stirred in her gut, and now that the elevator was stuck? That unease was turning into full-blown nerves. The already too-small space felt like it was shrinking around her. Her head spun, so she slid to the floor, resting her head on her knees for a moment. The space felt bigger from her spot on the ground, at least.

"Well, isn't this a fun way to spend our Saturday?" she said dryly, trying for a calm, unaffected exterior that she definitely wasn't feeling.

Tim feels the fight leave him almost like he'd gotten punched in the gut. Ironic since he'd gotten a few cuts there. He's lucky none of those cuts are serious. Just the ones that Tinley is-

"Fuck!"

He hisses as she works on cleaning his cuts. He bites his lip and tries to breathe through it. He tries to remember if this is in fact the worst he's come out of a fight. He's usually so quick to get out of there. He'd tried to instill that flight response into the new boys but...

"I'm sorry," he says, quiet this time, as tears prick in his eyes. "We weren't ready."

"You're right; we weren't ready." She sighs. "And I guess I can concede that we couldn't have anticipated the raid, no matter how prepared we were."

Tossing the used wipes away, she says, "You're all good." We're all good, the unspoken double meaning behind the words. "Just try to refrain from any more stupidly reckless decisions while you heal, okay? For my sanity, at least."

"My crew is loyal to me because I give a damn about them. I give a damn about surviving. I don't have them all sticking their necks out like idiots."

Hook demanded the kind of respect that came about under threat of going to war, he did not care one bit if his crew actually liked or trusted him. He cared that they lived as long as Nauticus would live. No one could trust anyone in this business. Hook clearly made that mistake trusting Tinley, and he wouldn't come close to it again.

"They'll use you. Just like they use each other. The moment you stop being useful, you’re out," Hook seethed through his teeth. Clearly the Lost Boys didn't value their tinkerer if they'd put her and everyone else in the gang in harm's way. In the way of James Hook.

"You know I'm right. Some people are just one bad day away from throwing each other under the bus. A lot of people, Bell," He does recognize the irony in asking her to do the same, "The moment the cops catch up? Or when someone more dangerous than me comes sniffing around? They obviously have no qualms throwing you to the wolves if it saves their skin. You won’t even get a second thought. Is that the kind of loyalty you want?"

She might have been annoyed with the Boys, she might sometimes worry about how much they really appreciated her, but she knew them. The kind of loyalty Peter had built, the camaraderie they shared, wasn't the kind that went away because things got hard. They'd sooner throw themselves to the wolves than each other, and she'd witnessed it time and time again.

"What I want is for you to stop lecturing me about loyalty and tell me if you have any work for me today," she grouched.

"What? No!" The teacher felt their voice raising along with their already sky-high anxiety, and yet despite their protests, Elinor's body followed Tinley's instructions precisely. What were they even doing? Obviously they can't just drop their friend off on the side of the road! But it's what Tinley told them to do... "I can't do that!"

Their control of the situation is already lost, though. Maybe Elinor never really had it in the first place. In seconds, they're off the highway and following small backroads into some sort of shopping center Elinor's never seen before. Fuck, they must be miles from Godscobh now. It's not even a road with a sidewalk, just a paved area where shipping trucks might drop things off. Fuck.

It's as if all power drains from Elinor's fingers that were gripping the wheel tightly moments ago. The car stops, and they just unlock the doors.

As the car stops, she pauses with her hand on the door handle for a second, regret eating away at her. Stepping out this door will likely mark the end of the tenuous friendship they've been building; another person to add to the list of people she's lost.

"I'm sorry, Elinor," she says quietly, before bolting out of the car and toward the buildings, only looking back to confirm that her pursuer is slowing down. At least Elinor would be safe.

"We've been driving for like 30 minutes, Tinley, what is he possibly getting out of this besides scaring the hell out of us?" And how long had he been trailing them? They'd noticed it back near the thrift shop and just kept driving, but had the car been following since Tinley's apartment? Elinor's house?

Her friendship with Elinor was probably over, a thought that stung too much to linger on, but she deserved it after the danger she'd put them in. The only thing she could do now was make sure Elinor made it out of this safely.

Which meant she needed to remove Elinor from the situation entirely.

"Okay! Okay, maybe I underestimated this guy's level of craziness. Just . . . pull off the highway, get somewhere near buildings, and I'll jump out. He'll stop following you, and I can try to lose him on foot."

"Um, yeah, you're not going back out in that," Leticia kind of read the offer to "catch up" as a lie, but not an important one to pick away at, "Unless it lets up within the hour, you're staying here tonight."

The decision is made with care, but not Tinley's input. It's the sort of direction that comes off cold, but comes from a place of concern and tenderness within Leticia.

"Do you want hot chocolate or tea?"

She rolls her eyes good-naturedly at Leticia's familiar overbearance, but doesn't push back against her insistence that she stay. She doesn't particularly want to go back out into the weather, anyways. Or whatever else might be waiting for her.

"Tea, always," she says, her smile lingering. It feels nice to be cared for, even if she won't trust in it lasting. She follows Leticia toward her kitchen, holding the blanket tight around her. "So, if we're having a sleepover, does that mean we're about to break out the face masks and truth or dare?"

Tim picks at his ice cream in the silence, trying to calm himself. Just because he worries about Tinley doing this, doesn't mean he can get mad at her about it. Especially if Peter's in on it.

"I know you've got it," he says. "I'm still gonna worry about you. I worry about all the Boys."

He gently kicks her foot as a show of understanding.

"Yeah," she says as she scoops her bowl back up, stirring her spoon through the melting ice cream. "Me too."

Tim scowls and pulls the bandage taut. He doesn't look at Tinley for fear that he'll get more angry.

"My recklessness? That's what we're going with? Not the shit plan that got scrambled even more because of something we couldn't have planned for? My recklessness..."

He scoffs and looks over himself in the mirror. He thinks he got his ribs as secured as they can be. He tries to take a deep breath but winces. Not as bad as the laugh but still painful. He sees her pacing in the reflection and his anger deflates a bit. Obviously this is a horrible situation and their coping mechanisms are not compatible in this moment.

"Do I have any bad cuts on my back?" He hopes giving her a task will help her settle and they won't snipe at each other the whole night. They'll have to check in with Peter eventually which is already enough anxiety for them to deal with.

She came so close to losing everyone she cared about tonight, she can feel how close they all came, can see it in their injuries that could have been so much worse, all for some stupid, unnecessary carelessness.

"Yes, your recklessness! The timing of the raid sucked, but we could have been out of there in time if you guys didn't have to go off-script and trash the place! And you, putting yourself at risk by yourself, what were you thinking?" She shakes her head. "Actually, don't answer that, you obviously weren't thinking."

The mention of his cuts makes her pause her pacing. Her anger's still at a simmer, but it doesn't override her concern. Helping him is the distraction she needs right now, something tangible she can do, and he knows it. She looses a long sigh that sounds more like a growl. "Let me see," she says through gritted teeth.

She winces when she takes in the state of his back. Most of the cuts are shallow, but there's a deeper gash on his right side.

Her movements are sharp and jerky from the anger and fear she's holding back. "You have a few cuts," she says as she rips open a pack of sterile wipes. "But nothing too bad."

Well, now. The young man may not know where these Olympian Gardens are or how to find them, but he does know that he absolutely has to see that for himself.

When she tells him, next, that he should be okay here if he knows how to protect himself, there is something that crosses his expression. Some manner of unreadable emotion that makes him stand a little taller. More confident. More sure of himself.

“I can. I am,” he answers, and it surprises even himself to hear how certain he had sounded of that.

As soon as she brings up the thought of work, however, he is forced to keep himself from making a face about it. While it may be true that he doesn’t know much about what she might have in mind for him, he knows that it probably involves both effort and diligence on his part — two qualities he knows to be lacking in himself, and that he knows he is utterly uninterested in developing.

But, at the same time… Even he has to admit that he does need the money. Badly.

“That depends…” he bites, cautious, shoving his hands into his pockets and shifting his weight back and forth between his feet. “What did you have in mind?”

@acommonfairy

She senses . . . maybe a hesitance at the mention of work? He's a wanderer. Maybe he doesn't like the idea of a routine, structured job—which she couldn't blame him for.

"Well, it's not your typical work. A friend of mine, Peter, he . . . dapples in a lot of different areas, and sort of takes people in. He could put you on some odd jobs, just to see if you'd like it."

She has to play this carefully—she can't exactly go spouting off about joining a gang, and she's not about to start sounding like some cult member-fanatic gushing about how he would love to join their family.

But she can really see him fitting in with the Boys. And knowing what it was like to go from wandering adrift in the world to having a home and family for the first time, she wants to give P the same.

"I could talk to him, set you guys up with a meeting. You'd have a lot of freedom. What you do would depend on where what you want to do and your skills meet."

Peter allows these words to linger in the air between them for a moment before politely averting his gaze, granting her a respite from his gaze so that she, hopefully, may come to feel less watched and scrutinized. If she does not wish to accept the olive branches that he has offered her, he will not insist upon it any further and will proceed with the interrogation as intended — that does not mean he wishes her to be uncomfortable, however.

“I would like to begin my questioning by asking you to state your full name and your whereabouts on the night of the New Year, if you please.”

@acommonfairy

It's a nice sentiment, though, the claim that he'd treat her no differently than any other Godscobh citizen.

When he looks away, she breathes out a quiet sigh, rubbing at her temples for a moment, grateful for a moment free of scrutinization before the true interrogation.

As Peter begins his questioning, the seriousness of it lands on her, feeling almost like a tangible weight. She ignores it, not letting a hint of nerves show.

"Now, Sheriff, I thought it was your job to know these things." She tsks, shaking her head. "Tinley Bell, pleasure to make your acquaintance. I was at home on New Year's Eve with a bottle of champagne. You know they didn't even show the ball drop this year? So disappointing."

She's still worried, of course she is, because this behavior could get dangerous quickly. This could escalate. But if it does, it's better for Hannah to be there to catch Tinley if she falls. And it's not like Hannah is above a little petty crime. Breaking and entering used to be one of her best skills. This was nothing but a little harmless fun.

The thrill of a night full of possible adventures courses through her veins as they step outside, breathing in the crisp air that smells like rain on pavement from the earlier storm. It makes her want to run down the street, to scream at the sky. It's the wildness she felt as a kid, that not-quite-human feeling after a day of running loose outside, like she was just another creature of the forest, made of earth and open skies. It brings to mind scraped knees and tangled hair and muddied clothes, all often earned with Hannah by her side.

The thought sparks an idea in her, and she stops, whirling to face Hannah. "What if we drop by the old playground first? I think it would be a perfect night to go swinging."

"No, no, it's fine, I can be cool about it. It's just weird to be out so late, I'm usually in bed by 8, unless I have homework," She replies, then realizes it makes her sound super lame. Didn't she have any kind of social life before moving here? Sort of, but she's already putting so much trust in Tinley to even bring her out here. It's hard to talk about anything more when they're still just getting to know each other.

"Aren't we going to get our fingers pinched?"

She raises a brow. "Not much of a partier, are we?" Maybe it's a false front, something she tells people to cover up her nighttime activities. Or maybe she is that . . . wholesome. She snorts at that thought.

"If you're careful, and pick them up from the back, maybe not. But no risk, no reward, right?"

It's not Tinley's fault, but someone needed to take the brunt of Hook's rage.

"You're not wrong. I knew about the crew you ran with. They got sloppy with this one, didn't they though? Not really your style."

There's a tick in his jaw as he thinks through the conversation. Usually he planned ahead, liked to be one step ahead in the conversation so that Tinley couldn't snap back. He wasn't about to let a little girl talk down to him.

"You know what that little spectacle cost me? Ships out of commission. Product ruined. Paperwork that will keep the wrong eyes on my docks for weeks. And this is reckless damage that put your crew at risk too," He spits out "crew" like venom, disdain on his lips, "It left us both in bad shape, that much is clear, but Nauticus will recover. Your gang is just endangering each other left and right, they couldn't give a fuck about which ones got picked off by the cops. If they did, they wouldn't have messed with me."

"Oh boo hoo. Cry me a river," she said with an eye roll. Usually, she'd try to handle her interactions with Hook more carefully than this, knowing there was a balance between being snarky and pushing too many of his buttons. But she was running on low sleep, and her emotions felt like a bubbling mess, all at the surface where she couldn't control how they spilled out.

He was right. They'd only managed to endanger each other, meanwhile Hook would brush this off. Though it did give her a flare of smug satisfaction to hear him admit that they had cost him, in the end. It wouldn't be an easy recovery, and for that, at least, she could be happy.

That satisfaction was quickly chased down by burning anger again. She might have hated how the Boys' stunt played out, but she knew the one thing that would never change: they did care about each other. They were family first and foremost, and family sometimes made stupid decisions, but that didn't stop them from being family.

"That's rich coming from you. Your Crocs are only loyal to you for the money," she snapped. "It's not like they give a damn about each other."

Not if they went on the highway though. Elinor sped off on the closest entrance, hoping the further away from town they went, the less the other driver would be interested in following.

"You didn't tell me you had a stalker," The teacher pursed their lips, breathing deeply through their nose and staring blankly at the road ahead. Tinley's command rang in their head: just keep driving, just keep driving. They didn't want to accuse her of anything, but it wasn't unreasonable to smell bullshit given the situation, "This has happened before?"

Further alarm spiked through her at hearing what she thought might be a hint of suspicion in Elinor's voice. Maybe she should just tuck and roll out of the car? It wouldn't be the worst of her options.

Calm, deflect, and deny, she told herself, the words becoming a mantra in the back of her mind.

"Oh, no. I don't have a stalker. It just looks like it might be that client's truck, and I put two and two together given his weird behavior. If it's him, he's pretty harmless. I just don't want to risk him doing something stupid."