death-touched

17:35. 1st January 2026.

The minute the sun disappears behind concrete and it’s dark enough he can crack a blind. Reid’s making buddies with the motel clerk.

He’s only gone for ten minutes, before he’s waiting for Anika to coerce Henry back into the truck. Hands wiped clean of anything unnatural. He catches Anika’s gaze when they get into the truck and head out.

She knows.

And he tries. “Day alright?”

His feeding habits didn't bother her as much, as his general personality did. In all honesty, that wasn't at the very core of her fury either, but she liked to pretend it was — simply because the truth was much harder to admit. A dry reply: "Yeah." Then she went back to stretching her legs on the dashboard and finishing her crossword puzzle.

19:20. 2nd January 2026.

The fuck were they risking going back through Colorado, after the way they left.

Anika and Reid had just switched seats again. That was the most of the talking they did— 'suns out, you drive." and "it's dark, now's your turn.' Like a couple of hitchhikers. Anika hoped that by tomorrow, they could do that silently. It wasn't a task that required much talking. They only did it out of habit.

Diner food had the truck hot with the smell of reheated frozen food. Henry ate like he was a starved boy, who’d just been spoiled rotten with a late dinner. Sat up straight with styrofoam boxes of fries, and slider dogs balancing on his lap, and in the middle space.

He just kept eyeballing the apple pie, which Reid had told him could only be eaten at the end.

Crumbs spilled down the gaps in the seats.

Anika’s balancing a soda between her legs. Also Henry’s, who’d discovered he couldn’t have everything at once, when learning to eat in the back of a truck.

Reid turned from the wheel, to Anika. “Make sure you eat something, too.”

She usually just told him she wasn’t hungry. And he’d wanted to call her a liar.

Her stomach's grumbling—often a giveaway she couldn't hide. "Yeah." That put an end to both her silent strike and her hunger one for the day. She wanted to say something else, how she missed eating noodles in bed with him, while he kissed every inch of her face covered in sauce. It was easier to fall into those memories, when there was nothing before her but roads for miles. "Pass me a hot dog."

07:53. 3rd January 2026.

Anika’s had to pick up the last two hours of the drive, because they’re out of night and the sun nearly cost him three fingers on the wheel when they’d singed. Henry had cried, and Reid had promised him it’d be fine and that they’ll stop soon.

Half a day in a truck had a three-year-old restless.

Reid had refused to stop unless it was to go to the bathroom — a dusty side of the road — when he can sit in the back with Henry, and block out most of the window light.

Twin Falls, they know.

Henry demanded truck videos on Reid's phone, and Anika watched the two in the rear view mirror, as the sun blazed through her window. The back was all in shadows — a thick blanket over the two, that had put Henry to bed quite fast. Her eyes settled on Reid, and their stares locked for a brief moment, before she averted her gaze. The ring on her finger blinked in the light. The curse of having just one hand, the band on her ring finger was always there, in her face — a reminder that she should at least look at her husband, if she didn't wish to talk.

Cold fingers brushed through a boy’s hair, as he laid wrapped in the same heavy blanket against Reid’s side. He almost suggested he took it to the truckbed, and got comfy out there. But Henry might’ve caused a one-handed woman to crash, if he didn’t have some kind of distraction.

The amount of times Reid had considered asking Anika if they were going to keep doing this silent, bitter love-hating would have fed him for weeks, if that was all it cost to satiate the roiling pit inside him.

He isn’t convinced she wouldn’t roll the window down in the back, if he even attempted to put a band-aid on what parts of them are utterly broken. Instead, he’s holding onto the memories of them laughing the last time they were in Twin Falls. Where hot showers were exciting, and towels were littered all over the motel floor, because they were barely leaving the bed.

The shithole that had been the Tipsy Tractor, hadn’t been half bad either. Especially memorable, when he beat her at the game of pool he’d promised. From the backseat of the truck, with his head tipped down towards Henry in the shadows, there’s a small, wistful smile ghosting his lips.

"What are you smiling about?" She intruded on his thoughts, of course. Because her eyes rarely left him, especially when he wasn't watching. And she had that special ability to read the lines around his mouth and the ones around his eyes, and know exactly what he was thinking. She might've picked up on that during the days they were roommates, cooped up in an apartment that is now ash, where his face adorned the pages of her sketchbook.

It’s quiet enough, and dark enough that he thinks they can figure something out later.

“Get behind the wheel. I’m gonna push. You steer us clear.” He’ll think about where they’re going to stay whilst they’re here, when he knows where the hell they are. Port Leiry looks different, when the roadsigns are iced over, and the ground is lost beneath a snowy sea.

21:30. 5th January 2026.

He’d finally figured out that they were a few blocks from Baliol Street. And as long as he was facing North, he knew what buildings were either side of him, too.

Henry had woken up, shivering and complaining of the cold. Anika is too, but she’s refusing to admit that. Reid’s got half a mind to knock on a door, and borrow the place for the night. But that’s just a temporary fix. He needed to get them out of the chill, before he began searching for who they were there for, in the first place.

If his phone signal worked even half, he might’ve been able to call through.

“There’s a short stay around this corner. You need me to carry him?”

That’s the stage they’d reached; they’re asking each other stuff that they’d usually just go ahead and do. Unquestioned. Permissible things, in case one bit the other’s head off for saying the wrong thing.

"I got my father's house keys," Because she'd rather get stabbed, over and over again, than set foot in Port Liery's motels. She braced herself for the cold, quickly walking out of the truck to get to Henry's side and drag him out, with his head on her shoulder and his small arms limp around her. "If we can find the damn apartment. What's over there anyway?" That short stay. Every corner turned hostile, as though someone was about to jump out and attack her any minute now. Her heart was in her throat, making it difficult to breathe.

She’d left that detail out of their days of silence.

Reid doesn’t particuarly want to rip up the skeleton of a dead friend — or Anika’s father. But he supposes that compromise is their favourite thing to neglect ever committing to.

“I know where we are.” He mutters, grabbing out their bags from the back and nodding for Anika to follow. The quicker they were inside, the faster they could save the kid from getting sick from the cold. “It’s ten minutes this way.” Maybe longer, trudging through snow and fighting off the falling flakes. Then, as if it might be the first opening to a real conversation in days. “I didn’t know you had keys for his place.”

Does she own it, too?

Is he sitting in the corridor, because she won’t invite him in?

Or can he walk into a dead man’s apartment without issue?

"Yeah, I couldn't get rid of them." It was quiet, the way snowflakes danced above her head and did their funny pirouettes on a mess of disheveled black hair. Cold seeped through the thin fabric of her long sleeved shirt, the leather jacket thrown somewhere in the back of the car beneath take out boxes. Henry was wrapped in Reid's sweatshirt, long and grey, down to his ankles. She hurried up after the vampire, "How the fuck do I even get rid of them?" It wasn't a question. It was sorrow finally finding a way to leak out of her.

He understands that isn’t a literal question requiring the obvious answer. And it’s cold to tell her to throw them in a trashcan; that isn’t what she needs to hear. Problem always is, that he never seems to know what she wants — let alone needs to hear.

Reid assumes her father lived in the same place that he remembers. Almost ten years ago now, and he doesn’t really remember what the door looked like, but he knows the building. He’s got to trust she’ll know the rest. Maybe she didn’t want him to answer, either. But he does with a sigh, “I don’t know, Anika.” A hand cracks through the iced up apartment building door, and he moves aside, to assume she’s capable of leading the way. Henry’s asleep in her other arm; she’s mastered balancing him in the crook of an elbow and a hip.

The kid stirred, as she bounced him up,just enough to ease up the tension in her arm, and keep it from trembling as she wiggled the key in. It was an old, wooden thing, easy to break through with a kick, but she wasn't about to alert everyone that newcomers have arrived. She hushed Henry back to sleep and walked through, leaving Reid behind. The door was wide open, but he needed much more than that to follow her.

He can walk the length of the corridor, like a shadow on her back. Silent, and tedious. But at the apartment door, he has to pause, eyes that trace the doorframe. His tongue pokes his teeth, because he expects he knows what’ll happen if he tries to step through. So he puts his palm up against the threshold. It’s a magnetic force that shoves back, far harder than he can and his hand drops.

Maybe that’s better. If he can’t get in, then neither can any other monster.

It’s early enough that he’s got hours of the night to go find Lis, or Belle. He already knows Anika and Henry will be safe, sleeping in a dead man’s apartment. They’ll be plenty of weapons there, too. He steps away from the door, shoving hands in the pockets of stained jeans because his jackets wrapped around Henry. He doesn’t even try to ask for an invitation, because it’s just another thing she can weaponise against him, the next time she wants to be cruel.

“I — yeah.” What’s the point of even trying? “I’ll be back by sunup.”

Probably sitting outside the door, but she can figure that all on her own.

She glanced over her shoulder, holding his eyes for the longest they've looked at each other in days, threw him the keys. "You can come in, and take those."

He catches the keys mid-air, and he half expects to look down and see a crossbow keychain.

There isn’t one. Just a worn leather strap with lettering long gone.

Nodding, he hadn’t realised how much he’d convinced himself that she would never have invited him in — or at least, left him out for a few days, like some death-defying doghouse. There’s remnants of who they used to be, stuffed in the cracks of hardened armour.

Pocketing the keys, he swallows, “Thanks.”

Then, he juts his head up in a swift motion, indicating for her to come to the door. “Hey, c’mere.”

"Got a whole ass kid on me."

Reid gives her a look, like he knows she’s making an excuse. Put him down. Kid must be so exhausted being the mediator between violent guardians, that he’d have slept curled on the floor.

But there’s a couch right behind her, if she stopped to realise Reid isn’t being an ass.

Anika turned to put Henry down on the couch, careful not to wake him (as careful as someone like her could be) and finding an old blanket to cover him up with. It still smelled like her father. But she didn't dwell on the memory. Instead, she found her way back to her husband, "Better?"

“Almost.” Either side of the threshold, Reid’s hand is allowed to pass through, and push the dark locks of hair back from her face. Features softening, because fighting’s tiring. If she’s going to kill him with one of her father’s stakes, then she could do it with their eyes closed and lips touching. “I love you, you know that.” Against her mouth, it’s the clearest truth. “Even when we’re like this.”

Whatever the fuck it is they become when they’re pitted against each other.

Before he allows her time to argue about what he’s stolen from her mouth, his hand slips from the side of her face.

Reminding her, because communication has to start somewhere. “I’ll be back later, okay?”

She chases his mouth, reclaiming what's always been hers for a moment longer, before he leaves.

He hasn’t forgotten that there’s been no message back from anyone, since. And it plays on his mind — because he's convinced Lis, of all people would’ve gone out until the sun comes up, on new years.

She’d have dropped him a line about it.

Reid pulls back, quietly apologetic. “Just gonna go try calling again, okay?” so that when he slips out of the bed, in just grey sweats, she doesn’t have to worry he’s about to lose his cool.

The kitchen is still a mess from earlier, when he wanders in to dial every number in his phone. He messages wishing them a good new years, and that he misses them. Others, he just tries to dump anything on — even ‘are my messages coming through?’ to McCormick, and Mercer.

Snowstorm.

He can’t shake the feeling that it’s another hurricane, where something other than the natural kind is at play.

There’s toys left on the floor of the lounge, with cake batter stomped into the floorboards. A pollock painting of the modern kind. Reid smiles, wistful, because it feels as close to something other than monstrous that he will get — even if it’s not deserved. If Anika feels the same, she doesn't voice it so directly. Not at least, in her usual blunted way.

He’s about to uproot it, or at the very minimum, disrupt it.

Reid props himself back in the doorway of their bedroom, phone tucked in his hand, nestled at his side. Henry in his sugar coma, and exhausted from being up way past bedtime — and Booker laying pretty in the blankets, waiting for him.

There’s something of a picture worth taking here. Resting his shoulder on the doorframe, he purses his lips, knowing that what he's about to say is will go down like a brick in the ocean.

“I need to go back.” She knows where. She knows why, too. “Something feels wrong about this snowstorm. I need to check they're alright.”

Her eyes blinked against the ceiling, in their bed where he'd been holding her just a moment ago, with lips plush and sweet to her skin. Platonic, almost — because there was no midnight kiss. No making a wish she never wanted to make in the first place. No watching the fireworks or some ridiculous shit like that.

Anika sighed, because she knew they've had it too good to be true, until now.

"Go then." A quiet defeat.

She couldn't fight his demons. They'd always win.

He knew by now what it looked like when they’re about to have more than a disagreement.

Who would take care of Henry, when he went away? Quiet anger seeped through the cracks of her defences. She didn't want to have a stupid fucking conversation in the middle of her foolish attempt at making this night something meaningful for them. A sweet moment that he tore apart. They didn't get moments like these, before a monstrous thing came to claw at them.

Reid chews on his words for longer than usual, sifting through the better thing to say — to ask — without shattering the fragility of her upset. “You’re staying.” More of a question, than it is a statement. If he got closer, would she push him away?

She got off the bed, turning her back to him to grab her jeans off the floor. "No, I just can't fucking wait to go back to the damn place where I watched my father die." A bitter laugh escaped her. She mocked him for acting like a fucking fool. But it was her who was the real idiot, wasn't it? For thinking their escape could last longer than a couple of weeks.

He frowned, watching her retreat from him, like he’d left that bruise on her shoulder for another reason. “Anika.” he sighed, because what is he supposed to say? It’s my sisters. Imagine if it was yours. He’d died there, too. Long before her father did. They’d lost so much in that town, but it’s where his family were. “Anika—”

No longer half naked, Anika padded across the floor to the bathroom, locking the door behind her. A ringed hand gripped the sink, shoulders slumping as she they gave out beneath the weight of her expectations shattering. With her head bowed, Anika took shallow breaths, to regather her composure and allow rationality back to her messy thoughts. Was she staying or was she going?

Reid found his way to the other side of the door, quietly leaning against it. As if she might realise he’s there, with just a piece of splintering wood between them. “I just want to know they’re safe.” Is he overbearing for that? She makes him out to be a criminal, for trying to be half the brother he once was. For trying so hard to give a damn between a broken emotion switch, and caring about nothing at all.

If he locked the box, he thinks he could stay in Texas, and he’d believe they’d be fine. It’s cracking it open to find the slither of hope that he could be better — that Belle might forgive him some of his mistakes, and that Lis might still grow into herself, yet. That didn’t mean he didn’t know Anika would hate every second of it. It’s a balance he cannot control, and he wonders when Anika might notice how vicious his dishonesty is, about what he feels. “Can we not talk through the door.”

Her eyes burned. The sounds of fireworks going off pressed into their bathroom window. A trail of smoke in the winds outside. If she looked up, in the mirror, she'd peer into a memory. The path to her past would open up and beckon her to enter — walk back to the ruins and stay there, in darkness and melancholy. Anika didn't think she deserved to live in the past.

Watery gaze remained on porcelain white. "Go—" she muttered, "And take the kid with you." Make up a life for him too. A life with loving aunts and legacy that wouldn't ever be his by blood, but would still make him a son, nonetheless, if he was treated as one. "Go back to your family."

Reid’s set the charges, and detonated the bomb that is Anika, all in one fell swoop.

They were still talking through the goddamn door.

“You are my family, too.” She is. And she’s still putting herself on a seperate page, because what the fuck were they doing if they couldn’t have a conversation?

"Bullshit. Your family is in Port Leiry." She said, swinging the door open with a woosh. "And I fucking asked you. Did I not fucking ask you, on my fathers grave, if you wanted to come with me? Huh? I did and you agreed. And you've regretted it ever since."

She wants to push him away, and the kid. Call it a night, just like that? If she hadn’t opened the door, he would have said something regrettable.

Then she’d know what regret looked like.

“Can you slow down for a second?” Reid’s blocking the bathroom doorway, where she stands. “I’m telling you I need to see my sisters and you’re condemning me for it.”

"Where have your sisters been the last two months?" Hating her guts probably. But at least they were alive. Unlike hers.

“Answering my damn calls and texts.”

"Well, maybe they've fucking moved on."

Fuck you, Anika.

He bites back the retort, because he doesn’t want to believe that. Yet, there’s a part of it that feels like she could be right.

“Then they can tell me that themselves.”

She's afraid, he figured. Whatever they left behind would haunt them, if they crossed the county line. “The world outside of us still exists, okay. We can come back to fucking Texas, if that’s what you want, but you’re acting like —”

As if she’s making him choose, like some comic book anti hero.

Henry stirs from behind him, because raised voices aren't quiet, beneath the fireworks.

"What am I acting like?"

“Nothing.” It’s a foolish response, because she’s never letting it go. She can’t. It’s physically impossible for her to drop anything. Reid knows better but she's dynamite and he’s lit the fuse already.

"It ain't nothing so now you're just a liar."

She shoved him away hard, to make herself escape him and the small bathroom all together. The damn house felt like it was closing in on her.

He moves away from her, because there’s nothing he can do to salvage this.

He’s tired of it.

He’s been tired of it, everytime she acts batshit about something so trivial to him. They’re opposing forces, light and dark — and all the grey washed mess is always darkening over until the painting is all black. Until there’s nothing left.

Fuck the kid, she wanted to yell, and fuck this house, and fuck you. Because it was all for him — a kid, a house, this version of herself she couldn't recognise, it was all for him.

“Yeah. I’m a liar then.” He’ll agree. Because the hell does it matter? “You don’t want to talk, then we won’t. I don’t know what you fucking want.” That's another lie, because he thinks he does. And it’s them, in an isolated corner of the world untouched by civilisation.

Reid’s fine with that. But he doesn’t just shut the world off that used to — still does, matter to him. “Anika, I love you, but you can’t run from the entire fucking world, all the time.”

She had finally stopped running. It was him that had finally slowed her down. It was him that helped her build a home from the ground up. But his home had always been, and always will be — Port Leiry. Deep down she'd always known that. That one day, his home would call him back, and he'd leave.

"No, no, you love yours— no, fuck, that's not right, you love your sisters, and then you love that kid, and you love yourself because I managed to love you, so now you feel better for yourself, and Im a fucking—" You're supposed to be his wife.

But how much did she know about marriage when she was the product of a broken one? Anika dug the heel of her hand into her eyes, wiping the wetness away. She'd gone down the stairs, where Dana's dinner was still spread out in plates, leftovers nobody bothered to move to the fridge. She had to busy herself with something, picking up and dumping cuttery into the sink.

“And I love you.” Fuck, wasn’t it enough? “You’re my family. That’s what being a wife means — a fiancée, however you want it. You’re a Halstead too. I’m not fucking — what the hell are we doing, Anika? We’re arguing about the tiny sliver of care —”

He shut up, because she isn’t finished.

"This place took my fucking hand. Where the fuck were you when they butchered me?" It was fear — the force that made her crazy. She'd only ever allowed herself to feel it when she was with him.

He hadn’t thought they'd dredge this back up — because he said he wanted to see his sisters.

She knows exactly where he was.

“Don’t do that. You can’t bring that up as a weapon.” Reid shot, and he crossed the room, to stop her on her pursuit of dirty dishes and stale food. He isn't going to plummet into that, because he’d lock the box again — and everything would numb. “I thought we were —” Doing better?

"It's me who has to fucking live with it!" A loud crack tore though the room, where a shattered plate made a mess of blood and glass. It made her stop, the sudden fragility of the moment they were holding, how quiet everything went right after. "Being your wife means going back there." A softer sound. "And there's nothing for me there."

The back of her hand hit the faucet and water splashed over blood.

He’s a fucked-up, deadman, with a half-a-hunter-almost-wife. They had bigger problems, if there’s harboured hatred they can’t let go of.

Softer, with a dry throat, his voice is lowered — the scent of blood makes him want to get closer, “— Do you hold that against me? What happened to you?”

"A lot happened to me." A pause. "I hope your sisters are fine. But there was a moment, way back, when I really fucking wanted you to know what it feels like when they're not." It was not her hate that had complicated things for her. It was her love, for him, that has sprung out from poisonous grounds, that had really fucking complicated things for her.

What does he say to that?

The silence stretches, and he stares at the woman washing the blood from her hands, spitting venom at him out of spite.

She’s hurting. And in that hurt, she tears him apart. Reid barely recognises who they are supposed to be; this was what they were good at, wasn't it? Fighting. Surviving a vicious world that had chewed them up time and time again. He couldn’t imagine that her virulent words it made her feel any better.

It made him walk away.

The good thing about dressing a three year old that was still half asleep was that they didn't fight back. Henry was quietly lifting his hands, while lulling his head from side to side, like a drunk old man. Anika put on his socks and a pair of shoes and took him in her arms. He didn't even ask where they were going. Or why she was waking him in the middle of the night just to get dressed.

His head slumped onto her shoulder, small mouth hanging open as drool soaked through her shirt. He was asleep again before she even made it outside. For a three year old, he weighed as much as a fucking sack of bricks. Reid was already sitting in the driver’s seat when she reached the car, just as silent and angry as she’d left him.

"Got the kid." She said. "Anything else?"

They'd lost an hour of night, where it would have taken Anika ten minutes before, to pack. Eyes onthe rear view, watched Henry stir in his sleep, wrapped in his blanket. The last time he’d been so fucking cold towards Anika, they’d been at a motel — and it had been painted red.

He didn’t know who the villain was, but it felt an awful lot like him, still.

She blamed him — for the loss of her hand.

She wished his sisters were dead, once.

He’s taking her back to the place that ruined them both.

But if he looked the fuck around, Colorado, Oklahoma nor Texas was doing any damn better for them.

Reid starts the engine, silent. It’s the loudest thing above her and Henry’s heartbeats.

They were both staring at Henry, as if to avoid looking at each other. Anika closed the door and took a small step back, casting a glance to the driver's window with her arms folded tightly over her chest. The engine's roar sounded like a warning. Get in or get out. She knew the risks with either option. Yet, she stayed on the side of the road, feeling less like a companion and more like a heavy luggage, he'd have to drag around.

Go, she wanted to say, but didn't. Go, I don't want to die. Because he'd given her something to live for. She was living a life she feared of losing. Fear was a master at the silent kill — a gaping, gun shot wound to their relationship that neither saw coming. How was she going to fix this, when she felt so frozen in one place?

She isn’t going to get in. And he won’t look at her, or imagine the expression of betrayal on her features. That’s what she thought it was, right?

He won’t beg her to go with him.

He won’t even ask.

Hands squeeze the wheel, and his eyes linger on the blackened charcoal of a ring. Green lightening of the resin struck around the centre. There was only the headlights, and the overhead — a warm yellowed hue that made the polished wood gleam. His thumb of the same hand reached under to twist it around his finger.

It had been a promise, a commitment. A dream and a hope. He finally understood the guys down in Oklahoma, when he’d watch the game, as they joked about calling their wives the ball and chain. He’s halfway between pulling her into the damn truck, and letting her stand in the cold; a shadow in the rear view.

Fuck. Is there a vow about doing and saying stupid shit when angry and afraid?

They need one. Because he’s scared that he’s wrong just as much as he’s right about Port Leiry. Anika could be speaking truth — maybe his sisters have finally moved on, and left him to rot. But he’d never forgive it, if he didn’t find out for himself. Maybe she’d never let it go that he was a monster made in the basement, whilst she was turned into one all the same.

She knew the strings of grief, and she used them to stake him.

Reid shifted the gear into drive.

She knew she'd regret it. Letting him go like that. Maybe this was all she was ever meant to be — an angry woman destined to end up alone. Childless. Loveless. Afraid. The ring was stuck on her finger no matter how hard she tried to twist it free. Why the hell had he given her that stupid ring if he was going to leave? Was she supposed to watch him walk away from her? Her head turned the other way, where there was only darkness. Behind her, their house sat in shadows, too. She'd find nothing inside but silence.

What the fuck are you doing?

Her heart pounded inside her chest. She could feel it drumming in her ears. It was so loud, she couldn't hear her own thoughts. He didn't want to look at her. Not say goodbye, or something equally as shitty. She was just left there, punished for fearing a world that never stopped taking from her. Even now — It was still taking. There was nothing left to give.

With the handbrake on and murder in his gaze; love that hurts so much it feels like hate. Reid lets go of the wheel, and reaches over to the passenger side of the truck. Shoving the door open with an impatience. His eyes find the windshield, because he’d never wanted to say venomous things to her, like they once had. And he would be that monster again if he gave himself the chance.

In or out, Anika?

Her eyes were on the car, stubborn in their search for his face. It was easier to look at him, with the door wide open. An invitation that she wasn't sure why he made twice.

"You hate me?" she asked, "Is that why you won't look at me?"

He hates that she can be as monstrous as he can be. She shouldn’t have asked him in this moment — she should’ve gotten into the truck, and shut up. There’s nothing human, or kind about what he wants to say.

He checks on Henry in his periphery, so the boy doesn’t hear how nasty the two of them can become.

You really were right, Anika. You’ve still no idea how love works.

Eventually, his eyes settle back on her — the woman he wanted to wife, standing on the damp grass outside the ranch. Windowed by the car door, swung open in a dangerous welcome. He hates that he loves her, all the same.

“Are you done being a fucking bitch?”

They were losing night by the minute.

She lifted her hand, the one with the ring on her finger. "You married a fucking bitch."

Or had he forgotten that? Playing house had really changed their perspective of one another. But they were seeing each other clearly now. He was still a monster. And she was still — a fucking bitch.

He jerked the truck back into park. A hand slammed on the wheel as he shoved out of the drivers side door. Marching around the hood to face Anika. He hadn’t been able to do it an hour earlier. Tense with anger, and with teeth threatening to slip, he isn’t sure it’s much better timing, now.

He’s too close, and he knows it when he grits his teeth, “Yeah. And she’s either in or fucking out.” Her call. He isn’t waiting any longer — or letting her fuck around spitting her nastiness when he could be on the interstate already.

She could smell it on him, hunger that threatened to consume. "What are you going to do? Hurt me?" Her voice didn't waver. He was capable of worse. And yet, his sire had only ever known his mercy. Port Liery was like a locked box filled with tiny figurines. They each had a part in his life. He held the key. Anika stepped closer. "Come on."

She wants a reason to walk away that isn’t her own stubbornness. Reid had been long done with trading blows of cruelty — but Anika’s never done. Easier to hate, than it is to admit love hurts worse.

He steps back, because she’s taunting.

“Fuck you.”

It’s the first time he’s allowed the merciless thought to cross his mind so violently; to bleed into her, and snap her neck. Lay her in the passenger seat, so she has a real reason to hate him. To loathe him — like he loathed a monstrous nature. It scares him, but not as much as it should.

They were never going to change.

He slams the passenger door shut, and is back in the drivers seat in a blink. They’d continue to stab each other, if he let her draw him into her mean, terrified box of shit things to say. She’s had her chance; he didn’t expect an apology, and maybe he’s in the fucking wrong, too. But it’s a long drive back to Oregon, and he isn’t sure what he’s going to find, when he gets there.

Anika’s just a shadow in the rear view, when gravel spits out the back of the tyres and he turns onto the main road.

The ring had finally come off. She was watching the car get swallowed by darkness, when it slipped through her hands from all that twisting. The sound of metal hitting the concrete pulled her attention and she looked down. There it was, a soft gleam amongst shadows. Anika left it there. Then she looked back up at the street, where no car was coming back. There was no man running back to spit more regrets at his wife. No child crying for his mom. She wasn't his mom. Henry was sleeping, and he was fine. He'd live a good life, she thought. Her chest felt tight and breathing had suddenly become very difficult. Reid's absence and the deafening silence right after he'd left had made her wish for strange things, like screaming and fighting until their lungs gave out, or saying cruelties and apologising right after in their own way. There was no more of that. It was only quiet now, when she sat down on the pavement.

02:40. 1st January 2026.

There’s no forgetting Anika. She is an ember inside of him, taunting him. Speaking words she might’ve said — or could have, if he had stayed to listen to them, a little longer. Words cut deeper than any blade she ever drove into him. He knew what she meant, when she made him bleed. It’s just torture and cruelty to drag out his adversities and turn them into fears, and regrets.

If Henry hadn’t been in the backseat, Reid might have shut the lockbox lid, for good.

Is he in the wrong? His disregard for the city — his hometown, and its demons and all they’d endured. For the sake of knowing his family were alright. It felt like his head was being cleaved in two.

Reid had been at the rest stop, only ten miles down the road from the ranch where he’d been for over an hour. He hadn’t been able to pull away, after pumping gas. Just let Henry sleep with shitty overhead yellows as his nightlight. His phone had been in his hand, tapping on his thigh for long enough he thinks the bruise has healed twice over.

Some guy in a pickup, who’s noticed Reid blocking the gas pump, picks the worst goddamn time to tell him to move.

Halstead’s head twists to look at the Texan approaching. He’s chewing on gravel by the time he’s figured out how bad he’s going to hurt him, “Dude, don’t even try. Go to another one.” They — he, can never catch a break. Since Anika’s not there.

He wishes she were.

For a moment, when the Texan gets back in his pickup, Reid thinks he’s about to slam into the back of the truck. Henry’s inside. And god help that cowboy, if he even got close.

He drives past, cursing, and circles around to the other side, to get his fucking gas.

Reid’s feet don’t get back into the truck, because he doesn’t know how to drown the hate clouding up the resin in the ring on his hand. Emerald and onyx, staring at him like a dare. He doesn’t know why it would have changed anything for her. It’s never enough. He isn’t — between silent threats, and fears. Between being unable to have a conversation before a fight.

What if one day, he doesn’t walk away?

What if she dared him again, and he did because he was no different to any other monster?

‘What are you going to do? Hurt me?’ ‘Bullshit. Your family is in Port Leiry.’ ‘Where the fuck were you when they butchered me?’ ‘But there was a moment, way back, when I really fucking wanted you to know what it feels like when they're not.’ ‘I don't wanna spend three months in a basement, over someone else's mistakes, again.’

Then she’d ended up in an attic.

They’d found Henry.

Reid could stand propped against the truck, until the sun came up, thinking about every nasty thing they ever said to each other. He could wonder how they were ever able to draw lines in the sand when they’d already tried to so many times before.

He told himself he deserved what she said, because she was human, and he was a dead thing. And there’s some version of love in the middle of it; a dark, broken sort that they both need.

By the time he got back into the vehicle — and drove the fifteen minutes back to the ranch — he’d given her enough time to do something stupid. He expected she made plenty good use of it, too. They haven’t got any lines, just weapons pointed at each other shaped like their tongues.

She was no longer sitting outside when the truck drove past the ranch. Tires screamed outside their bedroom window. Anika didn't need to look out to know who it was. She walked out with a duffle bag, locked the door behind her and waited for him to look at her, before she made her descend to the truck.

He did — look at her, and she hoped that meant he hated her a little less than he did an hour ago.

The passenger door cracked open.

"I found Henry's stupid turtle man shirt." Anika said, sitting down. "It's in the bag."

What the fuck else was she supposed to say? Sorry I was acting insane? Sorry I'm fucking scared? He knew she'd never apologise, because she never learned how to do that. He was also supposed to know how afraid she was. He'd seen it before, hadn't he? He'd seen fear in her eyes. He knew what it looked like. He had to know.

What she doesn’t know, is that he’s afraid of so much more than that.

Reid didn’t even know she’d been looking for the damn shirt. He just slumped in the drivers seat, and watched her, waiting for if she would twist and drive wood through his heart.

She might have done, if she’d known what he’d been thinking about earlier.

Her eyes dipped down where her hands were clasped together on her lap. There was no ring on her finger. Quietly, she added: "Why'd you come back?"

Of all the things she could have asked him. This is the stupidest.

“Because I fucking love you, idiot.” A sigh. She isn’t wearing her ring — and he doesn't know if that’s worth asking about. It’s whiplash, from boiling rage to defeat, and back again.

Is he a monster? No different to the next.

Reid kicked the car back into drive, before they lost any more time.

I love you was kind. I love you was more than she deserved. "Did you figure that out now, or—" A pause. "Sounded different before." Why'd he leave in the first place, if he loved her?

She didn't want a real answer. Anika was just buying herself time. But there was nowhere else to go now. "Listen," Eyes on him. "I'm really fucking scared this time."

Foot on the brake, the truck hits a stop at the connecting junction.

Does she think he doesn’t know that? She runs. She fights. She makes everything into a war because of fear. He does that too — but when he doesn’t run, he’s doing something awful. She’d put him in the position where he had to stop and breathe, before he compelled all that fear out of her and became something other.

He isn't afraid of the city as much as he’s afraid of what they’ll become stepping foot into it, if this is what they are already.

“I’m not going to let anything fuck it up.” A vow he’ll probably end up breaking. Eyes linger on hers, but his hands stay palming the wheel. “It won’t be for long. I told you that.”

Anika averted her gaze. "She's still there."

They have different she’s.

But it doesn't matter which. “My sisters are there, too.” Their friends. More powerful creatures than Reid likes to ever give credit for. Maybe Anika’s afraid because there’s no hunter magic in her blood, and those pinpricks on her skin don’t heal. She can’t hide that he’s a monster from him, either. Firmer, with less adoration, and more possession.

“Now you listen to me.” his hand reaches for hers — ringless, and still warm. “She’s never going to touch you.” He’d murder to keep that promise.

There was comfort in his touch. Their hands were meant for each other. Like two puzzle pieces. Anika closed her eyes and leaned her head back into the seat.

“Nobody is going to lay a hand on you. That city — it’s nothing. Those people, they’re nothing. Our friends — our family, they’re what we’re there for.” They were going to go do their business, and fuck off out of Halstead lives, again.

If they’d just pick up the phone, it’d save a whole lot of fucking psychopathy. “Okay?”

Fingers squeezed his hand. "I don't need you to protect me. What if someone hurts you?"

She'd kill them.

He laughs. It’s not funny. But they’re deluded — so are his half-cocked promises. “Believe me, I know.” He tried to strain the bitterness out of that, but it’s hard, when he just fought himself about hating and loving her. “We aren’t going to be around long enough to give anyone a chance.”

He should have killed that Texan at the rest stop — no, not killed. He didn’t mean to think that, he’d meant —

Same thing. Because the burn in his throat isn’t making his tone sound any softer. And he thinks she needs it to be.

You hurt me more than anyone ever could.

Really, he had nothing to fear other than her.

“You divorcing me?” he asked, when they turned off the stony driveway. His thumb ghosted over her finger. “You took it off.”

Fuck.

She wasn't stupid enough to think he wouldn't notice. But she was also lacking optimism when it came to their arguments and how long they lasted. This one seemed to have resolved faster than others. Well, they had been together for a long time already, that certainly was supposed to mean something.

"You did leave, baby." If anyone was divorcing someone, it was him. "You gotta stop the car, though."

He’d argue, she left him first; he held the door open and she chose not to step through.

Choking down the next fight, he lets it go. Because he’s still wearing his.

Then he veers into a lay-by, and stops the car. “Why?” He looked up at the crescent of the moon, and then the clock on the dashboard. Lip twitching, he checked on Henry mumbling in the backseat. He resisted asking if she wanted him to stop, because she was walking away, again. “Anika.” He tries not to stress the time at her; they've done this dance a hundred times; she knows.

"I gotta get my ring back." Her hand was still in his.

Get it back?

“What —?”

The fuck did she do with it? The hurt in his face got lost in the disappointment, because she’s not pocketed it, out of sight. She’s actually done something with it. She’s given up all her hope, as she always does, when they argue.

Their hands were still laced.

"It's just on the sidewalk. I was twisting it and it came off, and uh— I didn't know what to do with it." She sighed, "I didn't really know if you were coming back."

To her, it didn't seem like he was.

For fucks sake. “Like back at the ranch? Or you walked somewhere?” Reid hadn’t been sure he was coming back, either. A man possessed, really. He wished she’d stop throwing shit away every time she heard something she didn’t like.

"Yeah." She nodded, "Back at the ranch." Hearing it out loud made her feel really fucking shit. He made those rings. And she was throwing one of them away like it was nothing. "I didn't mean to, I just—" Shut the fuck up.

Reid turned the truck around and they headed back to the driveway. Quiet. Because it’s already done — she’s done it, and he can’t change it. But Anika is going to be the death of him, and she should know it.

The neighbours must think the truck screwing around on the road is a fucking psycho, since it’s been up and down so much in the last hour.

Sighing, he slows on the gravel of the drive, “Just show me where.”

"There," she pointed outside the passenger window at the sidewalk outside their house.

He gets out the cab, shutting rhe door gently behind him. As he walks over to the spot she gestures to, he’s focusing his eyes on the ground, looking for any objects out of place. A part of him wants to leave it behind, and tell her that if she threw it away like this, then she never wanted it to begin with. It shouldn’t come off so damn easy.

But he’s too tired, and too hungry to give a damn about provoking another battle with her.

Black and emerald gleam under a monsters gaze, nestled between winter leaves, and tree dirt. He stops dead, and looks at the ring for a few moments longer. Thinking about the time he’d spent, away from her, to craft them.

Picking it back up, he’s soon back in the cab, and dropping it back in her lap.

“You take it off again, I’ll assume you mean it.” He mutters, before he gets the car moving again. He won’t come back a third time tonight, so if there’s any other secrets about things she’s done, then he doesn’t care to know them.

It sounded like a punishment. Of course it would. He always had to find a way to make her feel worse somehow. Anika looked down at the ring in her lap, suddenly finding herself wishing he hadn't found it. Black wrapped around her finger again. He could leave her all he wanted, but she was the one getting chastised for thinking he meant it this time. She made a mental note to shut the fuck up next time. If she hadn't said anything about the ring, he wouldn't have turned back. If she hadn't been honest with him, Reid wouldn't have dealt another blow.

“Tomorrow.” Reid told him, for the eighth time in half an hour. Hindsight says that the sugar rush right before sending him to sleep, had been a mistake. “It’s bedtime, now.”

Anika scoffed, crouched down by the side of the couch, finishing up a present for Reid in secrecy. Wrapping up gifts wasn't like shooting up monster, she'd found out it was especially hard when you only had one hand. The wrapper ripped, and Anika tried to talk over the sound:

"You really think he's gonna go to bed now, with all of that under the tree?" Fuck, it was one ugly gift. She threw a quick look at the pile of presents with her name on it, and realized they all looked like they've been done by Santa's freaking elves. She couldn't compete with that.

The ring on her finger couldn't compare to the pair of socks in one of the wrapped up boxes for Reid.

He had no idea what Anika is doing crouched behind the couch. But Reid’s patience would thin out if it’s another patch of cocoa stomped into the carpet. He realises that he has to pull out the big guns for this bedtime battle: “Santa doesn’t come for little men who don’t sleep.”

A pointed look fired at Henry, as he bounces on the cushions. He watches the joy deplete from his face, like Reid’s just set fire to all his gifts.

Meanwhile, Anikas creation was getting uglier by the second, as urgent hands worked double time to make it more presentable and less — whatever that was. She laughed malevolently, "Santa doesn't even know where our ranch is."

Henry sat back down, in one sad, defeated hop, pouting at his adoptive parents and Santa, who he was now certain would never find their ranch and therefore leave him without his truck.

"What about Scottie, the trucker?" He whined. Trucker came out sounding like twucker.

While Reid wasn't looking, Anika shoved her present under the tree, far in the back behind a few big ones. "The what?"

Dana's kids, Mary Beth and Lily-Mae, had a deadbeat dad, who picked them up every other weekend, if he didn't forget, and bought them dollar store presents they later bragged about to Henry.

Look what our daddy got us, Henry, they'd say, and it'd be this big truck, chipped at the edges with rusty tires, a plastic man with a cowboy hat they've named Scottie gripping the wheel.

Henry wanted a truck, too. Because his daddy rarely took him anywhere.

"I told Santa, I want Scottie. He has a cowboy hat."

It’s difficult not to smile, because Reid never would have imagined arguing with a toddler on Christmas Eve about toy trucks with cowboy hats, and names. It makes him think about a rancher, back in his hometown — and about a Halloween that hadn’t started so shitty, exchanging a cowboy hat for buying drinks. Henry doesn’t have those memories, though.

“Then you better get your teeth brushed, and tucked into bed, hadn’t you?” Reid tells him, with this fake sternness that sounds a little like he’s choking down a laugh.

He knows Anika hasn’t bought him the damn truck, and he can’t remember if he did either. Eyes search for her in the living room, moving around like a ghost. He tries to catch her eye, as if the question could be read in his gaze.

Did we get him the truck?

Anika shrugged, shaking off any responsibility he might've shifted onto her, for trucks and plastic cowboys.

He thinks they might have got the blue one — maybe green, was that Scottie? Fuck.

He can’t remember, because they’d been arguing about cookies that day. Fighting some clerk about the Christmas stock, and how Anika hadn’t cared to decorate and Reid said it wasn’t about them, but the kid needed to see tinsel and baubles. It was a minor sacrifice in the way of finding a reason to endure. But he doesn’t know if the truck ended up in the cart.

He’d had to chase Henry around the store enough times, he remembered Anika just wanting to leave.

Reid tipped his head back to the kid, folding his arms as if he were cross: “I don’t hear your feet moving, little man.”

Henry padded across the room to wrap small hands around Reid's legs and press chubby cheeks into his sweatpants. Then tipped his head back, aiming those big, green eyes at the vampire, like a stake to the heart. The little man waited for Reid to join him in the bathroom, where they'd brush their teeth together and make funny faces in the mirror with mouths full of foam.

07:45. 25th December 2025.

Anika wore the same shirt she had on the night she agreed to marry Reid. An old, grey one she'd pulled from his things, a little ripped at the back so when he leaned over, while she was painting or washing the dishes, he could kiss the nape of her neck.

She’d lost track of how many nights in a row she’d slept in it. Probably many, but she didn’t want to sleep in anything else.

That morning, she woke up early, and tip toed in the kitchen, pulled the Christmas present with the ripped, ugly wrapper she'd made for Reid, and with the stealth of a puma, walked back into the bedroom.

She climbed onto the bed, and sat down on her heels with her feet tucked under herself, staring at Reid's sleeping form. When was the last time he fed? With Henry around, finding time to disappear and feed on a human had become difficult. Anika had offered her blood, though he was firmly against it, and it had seemed to satisfy his hunger for only a little while.

A hand reached out and pried one of his eyelids open. "Got you something." she said, with a smile unnaturally big for her.

A pale hand snapped up to grasp the one pulling at his eyes — an instinct that says he's ready to lunge. Anika’s scent is quick to flood his senses, and he lets her go as quickly as he'd turned. An apology hanging ready on his tongue, for the suddenness.

Nightmares came and went, and his feeding habits were out of sync. He remembers it’s Christmas, and offers her a warm smile. The same hand comes up to reach for her cheek as he sits up from the bed, “Morning — I wasn’t expecting, that.” He should’ve; they’d been safe here. Morning playfulness isn't new. Just a little jarring, coming from Anika on Christmas morning.

His reaction made her question the idea of this surprise. It was silly, stupid and unlike them, but so was exchanging engagement rings, and that had been all Reid.

So Anika thought it might be nice, wouldn’t it? To do something for him, too.

"What did you expect? Breakfast in bed, naked?" she asked, sardonically.

This was the happy version of her. At least, what she believed happy was.

He wouldn’t have been mad at a naked Anika waking him up on Christmas morning.

The place reeked of gingerbread, and something burnt. He’s surprised that Henry hadn’t found his way in to jump up and down on the bed, but he’s glad that he hasn’t; he wouldn’t have liked surprising Reid out of the rare sleep he gets. His first Christmas holiday with them, spoilt by a monster.

Reid's eyes dipped to the gift, wrapped in strange shapes in her hands. His smile widens, as he shakes off the sleep. “You got me something?” He repeats, like a fool.

"Mhmm." She nodded, tucking her long hair behind her ear, sheepishly.

It’s sweet, and her smile is oddly upbeat — he lifts a brow at her; it’s suspicious too. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Without another word, she shoved the present into his hands and waited in anticipation for him to tear through the ugly wrapper and find out that inside, hidden in another less christmasy packaging was a pair of socks. Blue and long, white letters along the side reading 'best husband in the galaxy', little planets scattered all around.

She'd spotted them next to the pantyhose on sale at the dollar store when she'd gone to get Henry's crayons. Then she remembered he'd made her play one of those games back in Denver, spaceships racing through open space, shooting weird alien creatures.

The paper’s tough; overtaped in some corners, and it tears easily in others. Blue cotton that’s soft in his hand, brings an ache to his chest. It’s special, because Anika’s done it; she’s found something and made it personal.

"'Cause you're a nerd, you know." And my husband, she wanted to say, but decided to wait for him to mention that part first.

He stares at the socks, laughing quietly at the stars and the planets — and the words that makes him look back at her, eyes dipping in the corners. He leans forward in the bed, ready to kiss her, “Just this galaxy?” Playful, before he steals her mouth, for a moment. Reid doesn’t defend his geekiness. Not this time. She can have this moment, without him saying something that she'd misconstrue. He loves her, and the socks.

"Mhm, 'cause I'm here."

Anika Halstead thought 'handsome', a stupid word she wouldn't say out loud, as she watched him pull back, softly, “Does this mean it’s okay to call you my wife?” The only other word she could think of, for the way he looked at her, would maybe be 'beautiful'.

Mouth soft and warm against his, loving hand coming around to comb back blonde hair and then slide down his bare back, dragging nails up and down, up and down.

"It's okay to call me whatever you want." Her breath danced across his lips.

Is she ready for that? No paper. No vows. No altar. Just a promise that their worlds were no longer just a collision of meteorites, but a new world, together.

08:30 25th December 2025.

They walked out of the bedroom, like newlyweds, his arms snaked around her waist, scrunching the fabric of her shirt at the center of her stomach to keep her as close as physically possible, nose pressed to the crook of her neck. Her head leaned back to give him more room to breathe in her scent, while she laughed and laughed, because his beard tickled.

In the living room, a trail of wrapping paper laid scattered like breadcrumbs, leading to a little gremlin hungrily devouring another present. The windows were wide open and sunlight blasted in like some kind of an atomic weapon. She'd forgotten to shut the blinds the night before.

"Someone's found his presents." she said, turning to Reid. "You hurt?"

He flinches, as he head lifts from her throat — feet backing up to create a sudden distance between him and Anika. A man retreating into the shadows because a sharp hand has sliced between them. He nods, through a quiet hiss. “No. It’s okay.” Eyes linger on his arm and shoulder that'd been caught in the beams, smoking like he’s the coal. He can’t look at the window without burning out his retinas, so he focuses on Anika and Henry, looking at him. “I’m alright.” He smiles tightly at the boy, as the burns on his skin slowly fade.

Anika would notice how slow it is, and know he’s fallen back into bad habits.

Worried eyes studied the burn, "Baby, it's cause you ain't feeding."

But it’s Christmas. And Henry’s looking at him like he isn’t sure what'd happened. He's torn open all the gifts, even the ones without his name.

Reid shot Anika a look that says he didn’t want to acknowledge the fact in front of Henry. As soft as her voice had been, it’s truth. And the boy hadn’t needed to know what they were, even if Anika’s tattoo was drained of it magic since Oklahoma. Reid’s habits were different.

He knows he needs to stock up from the hospital more, but it’s a journey that takes time he’s busy spending with them.

Quietly, he murmured, “It’s okay.”

Henry noticed the shift between the two, and how Reid was now hunched, and small, angry bubbles had covered his upper arm. Presents left behind, Henry joined his parents in the shadowy corner of the room, wearing his truck pajamas, going on and on about kissing it better, and how he'd seen Anika kiss it better before.

"Why did the light hurt you?" Maybe, Henry thought, Santa could bring his daddy some medicine, for the bubbles.

The light, he says. Because I’m a thing of the dark, Henry.

Reid looked at Anika, as if to ask for a clever story to tell. But he isn’t sure what to say — it’s the holidays, it’s not a gift to know what lurks in the shadows. “I’m sensitive… that means my skin doesn’t like it…” A beat, “But we only talk about it between us, Henry. You can’t tell your friends.” He wouldn't usually be so blunt with it, but he didn’t know how to dull down the language for him.

He would lie to the boy, tenfold, if it meant he could skirt away from the details of the truth — it’s cruel to ask a curious boy to keep that kind of secret. He would barely understand what it means.

Anika laced her fingers with Reid's, squeezing tight to give him a semblance of reassurance. The truth was hard to say, especially chewed down and spit out in the form of something a three year old would understand.

"Maybe we can get you gummies for it."

What Henry was actually suggesting was — pills. The colorful gummy bears Reid and Anika got him, when he had a tummy ache. Sometimes he’d drag one of the kitchen chairs over to the counter and reach up into the cupboard above the sink, find where they’d hidden the small bottle, and sneak a couple when they weren’t looking. He was a sneaky kid, just as smart as he was troublesome.

Reid smiled. Because it would be nice if that ailment wasn’t so agonising. But he knew that it was necessary, to keep himself and everyone else, safe. He could do less damage, if he slipped; if he was limited to only the dark. The catch on the lockbox inside him is already broken enough. It’ll shutter entirely if poked the wrong way.

“What gifts did Santa bring you, hey?” A hand squeezed Anika’s back, as he glances to the open window, and then back to the boy on the floor, in the middle of the light. “Show us what you got.”

Anika remained beside him, where she belonged. Not in the light, not with a child they barely knew. With him. The man she chose to love. If the shadows were where he had to be, then that would be her home too.

The kid looked up, beaming with joy, holding up a blue truck to his guardians. "Look! Looook! Looook! Look!" It wasn’t really Scottie’s truck, but a small plastic doll steered the wheel, a cowboy hat, one she’d taken from another doll at the store, perched on its head. Anika thought that had to do it.

Henry made no difference between this one and the one Dana’s kids had. He jumped up and down, "Vroooommmm vroooooommmmm"

Reid laughed, looking at the truck, and Henry’s excitement like it was a gift all on its own. Then, he bowed his head to Anika, to kiss her temple, “You did good,” a quiet knowing that she’d put together something the boy would love.

He had one of his own; space socks on his feet, pulled up taut to the ankles.

He hates having to ask her, too. “Can you get the blinds?”

She nodded, already on her way to rid the room of any daylight. Henry didn’t mind the shadows. The sooner he grew comfortable in the dark, the less Anika and Reid would have to worry about him. The monster under the bed would be just another shadow he could befriend. When he grew up, Anika thought, he’d learn how to stab them too, to protect himself from the ones that wanted to hurt him. Before shutting them out completely, Anika peeked at the street outside, empty and vast, no cars, no people around. She liked it like that, peaceful.

"Better, baby?"

He nods, grateful for the understanding. It didn’t come with an argument, either. Christmas seemed to serve them well. Henry would figure it out when he got older — if he stayed with them, that long. If there was somewhere safer for him than two fractured pieces of glass. Reid rolls his shoulders back, allowing reddened flesh to fade as he steps forward into the shadows — he smiles over at Anika, jutting his head towards Henry’s mess of wrapping paper and toys, “Did Santa bring you anything?”

It's probably somewhere on the ground, by now. Since Henry can’t read labels.

"Santa's never been a big fan of me." Anika leaned a little closer to whisper in his ear, "Says I'm a naughty girl and all that."

A grin, as he reaches across to squeeze her against his side. “You are?” Under his breath, he plays into the teasing, "Then someone else has left you something.”

"Oh?" She said, fainting surprise, "And what's that?"

Her eyes drifted to the mess of wrapping paper and gifts scattered across the floor. Henry was driving his truck over a torn package, something darker and softer peeking out from underneath.

Anika turned back to Reid, cocking an eyebrow expectantly.

“Why don’t you go and look?”

She pulled the package beneath Henry's truck, the kid's lower lip puckering out at the intrusion. He had to find another place to ride his truck on, because that mountain of fabric was hers. It was a leather jacket — brand new and almost shiny black. Anika let out a small gasp of surprise, slapping a hand to her mouth, "You got me a new one? Where'd you get the mo— You stole that shit, Halstead?" A narrowing gaze, eyes that turned to slits, with no real malice behind her voice. Even if it was, stolen, she'd never return it. Finders, keepers.

Reid’s eyes roll — because Henry’s repeating shit, shit, with a maniacal laugh, and Anika hasn’t even noticed. She’s busy accusing him of theft.

“It’s yours.” Not stolen. And he’s about to drop the big ‘it wasn’t really santa’ bomb, for the sake of clearing his name: “I kept the receipt, in case you wanted to exchange it.”

Quickly, Anika shoved her arms through the sleeves, fixing the collar around her neck where her long hair had been trapped. Reid had never seen a smile quite that big on her face. Not even, when he did his version of a proposal and slid a ring on her finger. Then she'd looked more in awe. Now, she was beaming, her smile all teeth.

"It's pretty great, yeah? It fits nice?"

She didn't need a mirror when Reid was standing right in front of her. She liked seeing her reflection in his eyes.

A moment to smile before he’s turning his attention to the boy running a truck up Anika’s leg. “Henry, Anika has a naughty mouth, don’t say that.” The boy went back to car noises, as he banged the truck on every surface he could reach.

"Hey, I ain't your highway, kid." She nudged the truck, shifting out of its reach. "Climb over on your dad."

It slipped — dad. As deserving of the title as Reid was, she'd never called him that. Henry had a dad and he was dead. The kid didn't seem to notice when exactly the man had turned from Reid to Dad, but Anika shot her fiancé an apologetic look, and a small shrug that meant 'sorry—accident.'

Reid stares at her, swallowing down that unease. An ache in a heart that did not beat. The smile left his eyes, but he nods his approval at how she looks in the jacket. Distracted, suddenly — by the boy, and Anika’s skewed perception. Henry had a dad, and he was a different kind of dead.

“Yeah, it does fit nice.” A truth, as Henry uses his leg as a racetrack next. In the same moment, he pulls Anika toward him, by the cuff of her new leather, “You look hot, actually.”

Anika stepped over Henry, as though he was a chihuahua, wrapped her arms around her fiancés neck to pull him in for a sweet kiss. "Thanks, Santa." She murmured softly. "You keep being good to me, and I might let you in my bed later."

“Might?” Playful. Teasing. He nips at her lip, whilst a truck is wheeled up his thigh and over his hip. His gaze wanders down to the little man jeering excitedly over gifts. He pokes Henry, ruffling his hair gently, “You hear this? Hope you’ve got room on your floor.” A joke that the boy was too young to understand.

They trusted that broken smile of hers, and skipped over to the fridge to grab sodas. Reid had made sure they had everything for tonight; soda, juice, candy, chips. Anika didn’t know kids needed that much junk. But Henry, grinning like a monkey on crack, because he got to stay up past his bedtime and watch the fireworks, seemed determined to eat all of it.

Anika shot Dana a look. "I can kick his ass, you know?"

She could do a lot more than that.

"Make him pay for what he did to you."

"Naah, I'm fine." Dana didn't like to whine, she'd gathered, a strong woman, independent and tough. Stupid too, if she was letting that asshole turn her into a punch bag. Then she killed the life out of that cancer stick, smoke coming out of both nostrils as she eyed the ring on Anika's finger, "You got hitched over the weekend?"

It made Anika look down at it, too.

"Yeah, something like that. It ain't anything big, just—" Somehow, she struggled to find the words that described the turbulent, strange and wonderful relationship between her and Reid. "—He loves me, I guess."

To Dana Summers, that sounded like something out of a fairytale. There was no envy on her tongue, when she replied: "Yeah, he does."

They bumped shoulders. "Where is he anyway?"

Reid’s outside on the porch, trying to get phone signal. The New Years messages to his sisters won’t send, and he’s getting kind of sick of scrolling through previous messages, and overthinking how much they might want to talk to him. He’d given them his new number, a while back, and they’d dropped lines intermittently, checking in. Reid’s tried to keep his nose out of their business, because he’s not there.

Belle’s always quick to remind him about that, too.

He’d asked them, when they’d been in Oklahoma if they wanted to fly out and visit. He’s glad they never did, now. Because that’d been a shitshow in itself. And Belle would have picked a fight with Anika, had she been around.

His signal refuses to pick up — and when it does, it never delivers his texts. They’ve talked since being in Texas; argued, mostly. Unbeknowst to Anika, who doesn’t need to know the animosity between Halstead siblings; she can’t help. A lot of their warfare, is because they feel like they chose Anika, over family. Reid would say that there’s not a choice, and there’s nothing to choose between.

Reid won’t expect Rose to forgive him, or Lis for what happened to their parents, either. But he’s been trying to keep the thread between them, alive.

What he does know — over the last months, is that Lis got out of rehab, and she seems to be doing real good. And Rose doesn’t answer many of his messages on a good day, between hating on him and reminding him of every failure. But she does get back to him, eventually. He can’t get a single letter through to her, now.

Then he tries Birdie.

Nothing. Failed to send.

Aurelia.

Same thing.

Then he tries to call — first Lis, then Belle, Birdie, Croft, Aurelia, Colt, Cam —

Dialling tone; unable to connect the call.

Reid steps further afield, off the porch, until he’s a shadow in the field ahead. Full bars. Yet —

“What the fuck?” To himself, as his eyes snap up to a firework let off prematurely. A single, red flare of spray in the distance, before it disappears into the darkness again. Is it his phone? He pockets the thing, and marches back inside. It’s stuffier in the ranchhouse, where Dana’s brought her cooking over, and kids run rampant on the floor, excited about showing off their Christmas gifts.

Everytime he glances Dana, he gets a little more agitated thinking she’s sharing a space with a fuck who wants to decorate her black and blue. He’s asked Anika if he should take care of it, and she’s always said she would, but Dana’s forever putting her off the idea. When he smiles at them now, walking through the door, it’s with a tightness to think that there’s more than worry in his chest.

Probably stupid, he thinks. As he crosses the entryway to kiss Anika softly, and nod a greeting back to Dana. Polite. Sharp. A little irritable, but nothing that he wants to let on. “Something smells good in here, Dana.” It’s the food. It’s always her food. Because it’s never Anika cooking.

"Sneak a piece, before those kids devour whats left." Dana said, looking over her shoulder at Reid.

“Sure will.” He replies, taking stock of the cornbread on the table.

Anika knew when something was wrong, without even so much as glancing at his face. There was a tightness to his voice, lacking its usual warm charm and humorous sarcasm that laced almost each word, always.

"I'll be back." She exused herself, as she hurried after her fiance, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, when she finally caught up with him. "You wanna tell me what's going on, baby?"

He isn’t sure it’s anything, except having to dwell on past mistakes. And he reaches up to lace his fingers through the hand over his shoulder. Turns towards her, as he picks at the cornbread, “Can I borrow your phone?”

She frowned, "Answer my question first."

In the corner of the kitchen, between the fridge and the sink, Anika leaned back against the countertop, studying Reid's face with an intensity he knew all too well.

"I can’t get hold of my sisters.” Anyone, in fact. His face said he’s worried but not enough to derail the evening. He’d just feel better trying to call them again, probably. “It's probably nothing.” Assuring, the both of them.

She hadn't heard from them either. Mostly because Halstead women avoided her like the plague. "Here, try mine." Anika gave him her phone, glancing past his shoulder at the kids munching on more of Dana's dinner. They seemed to be doing fine, without them. So she stole another moment — "You tried Birdie? Maybe she can tell you where they're at."

He had tried both Birdie and Croft. Twice.

Nothing.

Silently — despite the unease, he thanks her for the lack of argument about the phone. And scrolls for names in her contacts.

Puts it to his ear.

Dialling tone.

Beneath his breath, he bites back the curse before it breaks free. There’s children around and he isn’t Anika — they don’t need to hear that, even in the excitement of New Years. Offering it back to her with a frown, he’d not thought much of him having a busted phone, but Anika’s, too? He’s got half a mind to ask for Dana’s next, in case they’ve forgotten to pay the phone bill.

He’s rationalising, and they both know it.

"Still nothing?"

“It’s fine.” It wasn’t. “Service might be out or something.”

Silence. Dana came over to grab a beer from the fridge, opening her mouth to say something but then quickly deciding not to. Anika's head bowed slightly to her chest to peer at Reid through furrowed brows.

"You think something's wrong?" He looked like it — those deep, prominent lines on his face, around his eyes and between his brows. He was worried.

“I guess I’ll have to try again later.”

He has no reason to think anything’s wrong. But he doesn't like the not knowing. For all he knew, a Texas windfall took down a pylon and there’s shoddy signal. Even if it’s showing him bars. He shakes his head of the frustration, and tries to put the whole thing aside, at least for tonight. He doesn't want to be responsible for Dana and her kid’s thinking they’re inhospitable.

He dislikes that Anika can read him as easy as she can, though. And he pulls a smile back onto his face, nodding towards the cornbread he’s yet to touch. “Do me a solid, and eat this for me.” It’s not bad, but Reid’s found that certain foods — especially the stodgy, breaded kind, taste more like chewing on a dish sponge.

Mossy eyes followed Reid as their giggly boy wrapped small hands around his legs, tugging at his joggers and dragging him into their mess of scattered toys and crumbs of junk food.

Reid puts on the boyish smile so quickly, he might’ve convinced someone who didn’t know him that there’s nothing else on his mind, besides racing trucks and talking about when the fireworks start.

Anika shoved a large piece of cornbread into her mouth and unlocked her phone. She tried Lara’s number again, firing off a couple of texts while Dana watched her curiously.

"Everything okay with you two?" she asked.

Anika nodded, "Yeah, he's just worried 'bout his sisters. They ain't picking up his calls." she said, tapping on her screen. A sudden blue glow licked her face and a loud ping drew both their eyes to the phone.

A message made it back.

'signals weak af. hello?' Lara texted.

'you ok?' Anika typed back, 'reid said no one’s picking up. you seen his sisters?'

'we’re fine? it’s starting to snow. i haven’t seen them. its like everything is on the fritz'

A sigh of relief left Anika's mouth, and she was off — shoving the phone in Reid's hands, forcing him to read the exchange. "There's a snow storm or something, I told her to keep an eye out for them."

Snowstorm, in Port Leiry?

“Since when did they get snowstorms?” He muttered, mostly to himself. Anika wasn’t a native, and Reid’s see the power of weather made into weapons. They’d learned from the hurricane, all about sudden shifts in the natural order. But relief doesn’t settle for long, as his eyes glance at Anika and Lara’s exchange. “Hey — thanks. Tell Croft thanks, too. From me.”

But she already knows he is. Grateful.

Her hand rose up to meet his cheek. A smile, soft and reassuring, forming on her lips. "It's fine. It ain't a big deal. " But it was, to him. Worried when he did, even if he didn’t want to.

Her phone went back in her pocket. He'll try texting them again, shortly. And hope that in the meantime, someone can gets eyes on his sisters. Even though, it’s nobody’s job — but his, to take care of them. He’d done a shitty job of it thus far. Reid doesn’t want to keep the streak hot.

"It's just a little snow, baby. They're fine." There was no way for her to know that. Anika only hoped that whatever was happening in Port Leiry, stayed there, and didn't threaten to touch them.