COMING HOME

It didn’t take long for Jason to spot her and he couldn’t help but relax, as much relaxing as he could do, which really meant the furrow between his brows settled and his steps became less determined and more slow. Her greeting had elicited a laugh from him, though he tried for all but a few seconds to even hide a smile. “Is that your way of saying you’re happy to see me?” he asked with a raised brow. “Also let’s not forget who texted who first.” he tapped against his pocket where his phone was before looking at her, gaze alight with playfulness as they drifted from her features, to her attire, and finally levelled with hers. “This is quite the choice for a bar…” he trailed noticing the crowd wasn’t what he expected when she said she was drinking alone.

...

Brooke glanced down towards her phone, knowing she wouldn’t be able to deny that. “Are you going to hold that against me?” She mused, tilting her head to the side as a sly smirk came along her features. “And I might be slightly happy to see you.” She brushed her tongue against her lower lip, holding the phone in her hand as she let her eyes rest on him. She had to keep up an act of being just a girl who mysteriously came back from the dead with no connections or ties to the Vronskys. Her outing with Vasili was bad enough and she knew she had to keep a lower profile after what she did a few months ago. “Just checking out the scenes. Where do you usually drink?”

where: some bar off fifth

who: @brookcdavenport​​

The work Jason had completed was already nothing but a distant memory, that’s how it had to be. Usually he’d immediately go home play a movie loud enough to drown out any thoughts about what he’d done and let the dialogue of others lull him into a dreamless sleep. Instead he was granted a welcome distraction with Brooke’s texts, something to look forward to in the form of fun company. With her vague description he was able to find the bar, or at least the one he hoped she had meant. He stepped out of his car and walked into the bar wearily trying to spot the familiar brunette. 

...

Brooke didn’t think he had been serious about picking her up. Maybe it was his way of flirting and given the fact she was fairly new with the whole concept it was something she didn’t even think twice about. Stumbling slightly out of the bar, the brunette glanced down the street as her fingers wrapped around the device in her hand. Her eyes drifting back to a male getting out of a car, her eyebrows raising with a hint of surprise on her features. Truthfully, she had been burying herself the last month in any distraction that came her way but the one distraction she noticed that worked the most was the brown-haired male heading in her direction. “That desperate for a booty call, Pierce?”

Jason: Where? I'll come pick you up.

Jason: That's tempting...

*about an hour later*

Jason: Are you still out?

Brooke: tempting enough?

Jason: Really? Are you wanting to test out that theory?

Jason: River Casino, meeting a friend.

Naomi was a bit at a loss for words at actually having Brooke standing before her. It was always like that though wasn’t it? Wishing for something and when it appeared you were surprised that it came true to know what to do. How many times had she wished for a rewind button on that year, despite its existence, and here she was, a do-over in an unexpected way. “Okay,” she nodded and then smiled waving a hand and beginning to walk. “So you’re here.” Here meaning Chicago but also alive. “Are you…staying?” she asked all the other questions she had halted on her lips not sure the answers were even ones that could be explained.

...

Brooke walks next to Naomi, shoving her hands into the pockets of her jeans as she lets her gaze drift around the buildings. Some she recognizes and some she doesn’t. She turns her head to look over towards the woman walking next to her as she presses her lips together at her words, nodding her head a bit. “I wasn’t planning on leaving.” Yet. But that’s not something she plans on discussing with anyone. “Why don’t you catch me up on your life?”

Jason nods at her response as if to pose the question ‘Is that so?’ before letting out a chuckle.  He wonders what else the pair may have in common despite the years that filled the time they’d last seen each other. He then thinks in all the ways they could have changed since then. Even if Brooke made a wild guess about his past there were certainly no odds of her getting even remotely close. That thought allows him to register the same about her, he didn’t know her now at all, but it doesn’t stop the intrigue or the way his gaze remains on hers. Her next words are almost lost on him as he glances to her lips, then the table, then back to level with hers. Jason grins, understanding the game they were playing alongside pool and he’s amused. "You’ve got jokes huh?” he counters with his own question watching her form as she takes the next shot and smirks when it hits the corner. He pushes himself off the stool and walks around the table pausing before her and leaning in slightly. “Maybe,” he breathes, eyes lowering only slightly before finding the brunettes close gaze, “I’d prefer it if you didn’t.” he states stepping away and surveying the table for his next move. He lines up the shot and in one swift movement hite the cue ball against the striped ball and watches satisfied when it sinks in. “What is it you like about me?” he asks with a bashful smile, “Sarcastic answers not accepted!” he quickly adds raising a hand to stop what he feels is coming.

...

Brooke tilts her head to the side with a sly smirk spreading along her lips as she shrugs her shoulders a little. “Some say I should have been a comedian,” she jokes as she brushes her tongue along her lower lip as she holds the stick between her hands, her gaze focusing on the male in front of her. There was something within seeking for some excitement and after her wild night with Vasili she was still itching for something else, maybe the one thing she didn’t consider touching the last ten years. She inhales when he closes the distance between the both of them, her head tilting up slightly to look up at him as he leans close towards her. She doesn’t dare to break the eye contact until he moves away, leaving her standing there wondering what the hell happened.  She drops her gaze towards the table, watching him as he swiftly makes in another bar. She lifts her eyes up towards him when he asks his question, taking a step towards him as she reaches out, grabbing a piece of his shirt to pull him closer towards her. She lifts her face up to slightly brush the tip of his nose against his. “I would have said what makes you think I like you but you told me no sarcastic answers allowed but... I remember you always made me laugh.” She whispers, turning her head to the side to whisper in his ear. “But that spark... You feel it too, don’t you?”

Offering a small nod of thanks in response to Brooke’s reassurance, Isabella finds herself following the wayward gaze of the other woman, intrigued by the way in which it seems to linger upon not Vasili, but another Vronsky. “I take it you know his brother Peter too?“ She quipped, curiosity once again getting the better of her as blue-green hues returned to settle upon the woman briefly. “Peter’s another good friend of mine, we surf together more often than not. Speaking of which, you should come along some time. Given you’re new to the city and all, can’t say you’ve given everything a go until you’ve experienced the surf break out on lake Michigan.” The paramedic explained, offering a small smile as her shoulders rose and fell in a shrug of indifference. Green hues wandered the room, absorbing the vast array of 1920′s attire before gravitating toward a familiar figure where they remained. “A fire that can’t be tamed, truer words were never spoken.” She mused, as a small lopsided smile tugged at her lips and she found herself averting her gaze in the presence of the other woman before a certain secret occurred to her and brows furrowed together in thought. “Does he know — about your kidnapping?”

...

Brooke hums softly in response as she pulls her gaze away from Peter, nodding her head. “Uh, yeah. There’s some... history.” It was strange seeing him in the arms of another woman when there was a point in time where he had been in hers. Her eyes dropping towards the glass in her hand as she turns her head to looks over at the blonde as a smile spreads along her features. “I haven’t been surfing since I was eleven. I might be a little rusty.” She chuckles as she brings her drink up to her lips as she lets her gaze settle on the crowd once again. “Yeah, he beats himself up for every single thing that happens. He doesn’t think he’s worthy of so much and I’ll never understand how he can’t see what I do,” she whispers but when the secret leaves the other’s lips, the one she forgot she had spoken out loud to her, her head whips to look over at her. “No.” She stares at her. “That’s not something he can know. Our... fathers.” She gave Isabella a look, knowing she would understand what she was talking about. “Are friends. He doesn’t need that secret weighing on him like everything else does.”

The shift in her demeanor at the mention of what he can only assume is the last name she buried all those years ago, fails to skip his attention upon his approach. Brows furrow as intrigued riddled hues settle upon the brunette before him. Despite the lack of distress within the woman there’s a level of tension that lingers in the air like smoke. “That’s quite the assumption to make. You have any physical proof of that or is this some kind of going out on a whim situation?“ He questioned, tone one of mild irritation as azure hues bore into that of his twins darker orbs. “You’ve got to have more that shit he’s done and your own fucking exper–” Sentence falling abruptly short, his attention shifts to the ugly purple bruise that marks the skin around her neck, only momentarily brought into view as she tugged at her collar. Instinctively he’s striding forward as if to get a better look. “Give me a name, now.” He demands, hand raised as his gaze lingers on the bruise. “Whoever did that, they’re a fucking dead man.” Fletcher hissed, with a level of anger that was unparalleled.  

...

The only thoughts that seem to be in his head at that moment seem to revolve around his siblings. His first thought, like most stressful moments in his life, is to ask what Zephyr would do. He’d have it together. He’s probably done it before. And he’s not shaking like a fucking leaf, either, the internal monologue is unforgiving. He’d get rid of all the evidence. Then roll the body up and dump it where it won’t be found. He pushes all the furniture off the rug as he hears the shower running, and he moves around the body, without looking at it. He doesn’t need the visual confirmation, because he knows who it is. And he’s somewhat relieved. Not important enough to arouse too much suspicion. But they still need to be careful. He begins to tug the rug from beneath the torso, successfully covering half the body, and heaves until he rolls him over, and for a flash, he can see a face, eyes, blood, before he pushes again and the man’s face disappears. His thoughts then detract to Diana. Diana would also have a coherent thought. She’d tell you to wrap it tight, so nothing falls out. A humorous thought enters his mind. Like a burrito. The mental note elicits a small snort of derisive laughter, but replaced quickly with his frown again. When it’s done, he stands up, dusts his hands on his pants just in time for Brooke to reappear. “My car’s too loud, we have to take yours,” he runs through possible locations. Push it off a cliff into the ocean? No, there’s a chance it’ll become unravelled and float. Think, Vas, what would Diana say? He blanks as he tells Brooke to get her car keys, finding surprising strength as he lifts the carpeted body, heaving it over his shoulder somehow. She’d say take it to the landfill. And it’s a snap call but it feels like the right one. “Landfill,” he grunts out, and it disturbs him as he imagines that the wrapped up body over his shoulder is still warm. “It won’t be found.” He tries to tell her not to worry, not to even think, but he’s already making his way around her furniture and towards the door, waiting for her to open it.

...

In her mind as her eyes focus on the rolled up body, Brooke thinks about Fletcher and begins to wonder what he would have done if she had been able to call him? Now this burden rests on someone she never planned to make carry it. She drifts her gaze to Vasili when he brings up how loud his car is. “Okay,” she breathes as she walks over to the little basket on the table by the door, plucking her car keys with her index finger and thumb, glancing over at Vasili when the word landfill leaves his mouth. She wishes she hadn’t seen or heard the panic in his tone because now she wonders if he’s not going to be able to look at her again. “Landfill,” she repeats as she walks over towards the front door and grabs the handle, opening the door and looking towards the living room area again. She gets down to the car, opens the trunk and lets him put the body in there. She drives the both of them in silence towards the landfill and helps him dump the body once they get there. All she can think about is the smell she feels like is on them now. She wore the turtleneck to hide his attempts from taking her out himself because his secret was close to being exposed and she wonders how she even got the upper hand here. She drives away from the landfill as soon as they both got in the car and she pulls into a parking lot. She stares at the steering wheel as the car settles. “I’ll let you ask one question. One question and we’ll never speak of this again.” She whispers. “Or if you want to turn me into your brothers and your sister. I’ll get it, I’ll get it.” 

He doesn’t disagree, and just helps her into the car. He knows she’s had too much, and he has too, and there’s a feeling of guilt. She had asked to forget, not to be absolutely annihilated by whatever they can get their hands on, and he feels as if he’s taken that particular task a little too seriously. “Yeah, that it is,” he winds the window down on his side, then shuffles until he’s leaning across her to press the button to wind the window down on her side too. “The cold air helps,” he’s been in her shoes too many times to count. “And don’t look out the windows, hey, look at me,” he reaches to cup her face with his hands, training his hazed, half lidded eyes as best as he can on hers. Large hands cover her cheeks, his fingers brushing brunette locks from her eyes. “I’ll take care of you, you’ll be fine, okay? Tell me something, anything,” he says, in an attempt to distract her. 

...

where: vronsky compound

who: @brookcdavenport​

It was odd how much the city had changed and within a blink of his eyes remained so much the same. Alexei walked towards the compound on memory alone deciding against being driven. That didn’t mean there wasn’t a car following his path just in case, it was one of the few things Yulia had asked of him. Clearly Vasili’s stabbing and Diana being shot at had spooked her enough to worry about his safety. Within the walls of the compound though his shoulders dropped only an inkling at recognizing he was among those he was safe with. It was only the sight of a familiar brunette that he halted in his spot. “Brooke,” he called out with a slight wave of his hand. “I hear you’ve acclimated with Chicago well.”

...

Brooke pauses when she hears the voice, staring at the area in front of her. An assumption foolish on her part, not believing he’d ever step foot in Chicago but after New Years this shouldn’t have thrown her off as much as it had. A mask comes across her expression as she turns around to face the head of Bratva, giving him a polite smile as she nods her head at his words. “It feels like I’ve always belonged here,” a small peg towards the man who snatched her out of Chicago and took her away from everything she had ever known. “Welcome to Chicago, sir. Sorry it’s not under better circumstances.”