f e a r l e s s

Belva was making progress. It was in fits and starts, with plenty of backpedaling (especially after the disaster with Harley), but she was making progress. In large part because she’d finally had enough and left the house on the hill, escaping for several months before finding herself back there for the holidays. Even then, she’d rented a place in the town, the house (the center of it all, not home without the woman who once lived there) too much to bear. 

Which begged the question, why was she back tonight? A night meant for family and celebration, spent wandering through a mostly dark house that was so quiet it was making her uneasy? (The answer, of course, came back to her mother, to Maia Athanas, the woman she’d spent her life molding herself into. The woman who wasn’t there anymore, didn’t seem to be anywhere anymore). As Belva pushes open a door, she’s startled to hear someone speak, letting out a small squeak as her hand rises to her chest, ivory skin standing out against her red dress. “Gosh, December,” she breathes out, relaxing slightly when it’s clear that the person isn’t a ghost child or some nefarious character. The blonde takes in his appearance, the rather dark room, the two of them lingering in a house that’s filled with anything but Christmas spirit. “We can try to, like, unpack that later, but I think we should get out of here.” It’s the most direct she’s ever been with him, and feels a bit strange, but the thought of either of them spending Christmas moping about a murder house gives her the resolve to continue. “There’s much better ways to spend Christmas. Starting with take out and a change of scenery,” she offers, hoping that’ll sound like a tempting offer.

He’d left the house so many times, even within the last handful of months, but he hadn’t made it very far. The nights he didn’t spend in his childhood bed were spent on the beds, couches and even floors of strangers’ when he was too wasted to find his way back, something that wasn’t unusual, even less as time went on. He’d thought he was doing better. He’d thought, stupidly, that he wasn’t a complete lost cause, there for a moment. He faintly remembered at the festival, how he’d felt a sense of happiness and hope, how he could breathe again --- a weight lifted. Now it was back, heavier than ever, and if he was being honest, he didn’t care to shake it off. He would rather it just crush him until there was nothing left, then maybe, maybe, this would all be over. For good this time.

Those thoughts were a bit too dark to share, at least to the girl that was standing in front of him. While he didn’t care about his own downward spiral, he didn’t want to bring anyone else down with him; Belva, especially. (And on Christmas of all days.) If you asked him, she was one of very few people who actually had a chance in this world, and one of even fewer that actually deserved it. It took all of his energy to pretend that anything about where he spent the day mattered, to even muster a halfway realistic smile. He didn’t need that energy, anyway. There was nothing else to use it for. “Alright. You got me.” Pushing the half empty bottle of gin underneath his chair with the back of his boot, as if her seeing it would matter at all, he gave in. “Where’s this change of scenery?”

It was true that much had changed and yet the ever growing rift between the families of Vertmoor continued unaltered. She wondered often if maybe things had been easier for their Father’s who seemed to concoct evil masterplans behind closed doors and execute them in a way which kept them all afloat. Maybe it was that lacking of evil that was causing them all to inevitably fall apart. 

She approached the man still, only dropping in after rumours of Belva’s return had filled the town, “Well, I for one can say I’m pretty happy that you are. There’s not so many good decent people around here anymore,” perhaps she was talking about her own family or the man that seemed to have fled the scene of the crimes left behind. She gently placed her hand on her growing stomach as she offered him a smile, “Please tell me that you don’t plan to spend Christmas all by yourself this year?”

It had been awhile since he’d seen Cecilya --- hadn’t it? It wasn’t like he could remember, nor that he was keeping track of how long it had been since he’d gotten back in town. It could’ve been months, it could’ve been years since his face was plastered all over the news as the boy that had come back from the dead. Funny, he’d never felt less alive.

“No.” His tone was stern. How he wished those words weren’t empty, that there was just enough truth to them for him to not be flooded with guilt. Whether she truly believed it, he didn’t know. Why was she even wasting the effort in trying to make him feel better? “I’m not a good and I’m not decent, Cecilya. I never have been, and I’m certainly not now.” He turned, his eyes falling to her hand for a very brief moment before he caught her gaze. “It’s how I’ve spent nearly every other day this year. What makes this one so special?”

—

“you mean why the fuck are any of us still here?” verity asks, matching his tone. that stupid letter she had tucked in her purse still weighed heavy on her shoulder every time she picked up the bag. today was not the day to bring it out, she told herself, especially not to december. she sets down the book she had grabbed from vidal’s oh - so - sacred office. with no ace or horatio, no one was going to stop her, especially not knowing that her brother technically owned the property and she could throw out the ‘i’ll have you thrown out’ card as liberally as miles tend to do. “i think what’s worse is the fact you’re spending christmas here. you could’ve just rang me, i am your sister after all.”

December had a bad habit of forgetting the entire world didn’t revolve around him. When he was going through something, it was almost impossible for him to realize until it was blatantly pointed out that other people were suffering too. Something about her words struck him as a reminder, the only answer he could offer was a shrug. “So many places to go,” he commented, “yet we stick around this sorry town. Maybe that says more about is than the town.” I am your sister, after all. A snort escaped him. He couldn’t help it. It was hilarious. “You’ll have to forgive me. I’ve got so many of those, it’s hard to keep up.”

Cassia was glad to actually see December. Out of their siblings, December was one of the ones that they actually liked and felt less anxious being around. And while things were clearly not going great for him (even though Cassia wished that they knew how to help) it was still nice to see him there in one piece.  

“No, honestly I think my room was worse when we were growing up,” Cassia admitted, trying to dance around how depressed they had gotten and how hard it was to even get out of bed, let alone thinking about cleaning, “When I finally got around to cleaning it after I got out….” they paused for a moment, not really wanting to even mention their hospitalization, “After everything, I found a completely uneaten moldy pizza under my bed.”

That was hard to believe. December tried to remember what their room had been like growing up. He hadn’t been in it a lot. At least, he didn’t think he had. It was hard enough to remember what happened yesterday, he may as well give up on, what, a decade ago? “I’d say my room definitely smells better, then.” A light joke as he studied Cassia.

They looked like they were doing okay. Better than him. Though it didn’t take much to be doing better than him at the moment. “How’s the research coming along?” He didn’t mean it in a nosy way. He knew it was something they were passionate about, even if he didn’t understand the obsession with Dad in general, and it seemed better than asking how anyone was doing lately. He hadn't even known Chandler was arrested. Who knows what he'd missed with everyone else.

… .

for one reason or another, harley was used to not being taken seriously. it was both in the johnson genes ( or… at least, whatever genetic mutation of the johnson genes that she and chandler had inherited that their parents… did not have ) and in her own independent, often interpersonal, decisions. on an unconscious level, being recognized as someone who should be taken seriously in all facets of life seemed exhausting. and now that mentality was haunting her. despite her best efforts, her newfound knowledge of the law, one of the few things she’d been openly taking very seriously, perhaps the first thing she’d openly taken very seriously since the ‘mystery’ began, was unchanging. 

unfortunately, she only knew of one person who would take chandler seriously and would, perhaps, also be willing to take her seriously. although she was perhaps as familiar with december as chandler was with belva, he remained the only person she believed would have more than ‘i’m sure it’ll work out,’ long after it had not, to say. “ i mean, yeah – like… yeah. ” he had a point ! but her recent obsession that managed to be both healthy and unhealthy, the entire reason she was there, blocked that whole part out. “ so, like, you know what happened to chandler, yeah ? ”

“I just found out.” Apparently he’d been living under a rock. If Belva hadn’t informed him, thinking he already knew, December would still be sitting in ignorant bliss, assuming Chandler was out frolicking in a field somewhere --- or whatever it was he did when he wasn’t smoking with him. His carefree expression gone, he straightened up in his chair. He hoped she wasn’t coming to him for help. Not only was he completely out of ideas (and he’d been thinking on it for a few hours now) he was also completely out of the loop. He still didn’t quite understand why his best friend was even behind bars in the first place. It was wrong to feel bitter, but he was a little upset no one had tried their best to relay the message. Not that it was anyone’s fault but his own for avoiding all human contact besides the occasional hangout with River or meaningless conversation with those he shared a roof with.

“Has bail been posted?” He asked after what felt like a long pause. He didn’t have enough money for that. He hardly had enough money to feed himself anymore, not working and buying alcohol every other night. It wouldn’t be long before he was racking up credit card bills he’d never be able to pay off. But he would find a way to get bail money. Even if that way led him to sitting behind bars with his friend rather than both of them on free land. He had to try something. Chandler would for him, December knew that much. “Is he allowed visitors? How high security is this place they’ve got him in?”

…

Belva lets out a sigh, grudgingly nodding at December’s comment. The Athanas family did always seem to get themselves involved in the note worthy things around Vertmoor. Their father’s influence was felt long after he had passed, and it seemed that his secrets and connections would keep them involved in the unsavory for the foreseeable future. At December’s question, her eyes widen slightly, surprised that he hasn’t heard what’s happened. “You mean you don’t know about Chandler?” It’s out of her mouth before she can really think to soften the blow, the close friendship between the two men something she’s well aware of. After all, the reason she’s fond of Chandler is because of the conversation they’d had in this very room about the man in front of her, when they’d both feared the worst. 

“They found my hair, I guess, buried with Graciela’s bio dad.” The words are still weird to hear out loud, to say, even though she’s had some practice with it recently. Her expression shifts from that of someone simply repeating a fact to concern, and her gaze stays on her brother, painted lips pulled down into a frown. “They let me go, though, when they found a way to pin it on Chandler. They’ve got him in there for something stupid and Harley’s, like, completely freaking out.” Was it a lot to throw at December at once? Definitely, and it wasn’t even the lot of it. There was still that letter from their mother, a letter that she wants to bring up, but thinks it might not be the best time to do so. 

Every muscle in December’s body tensed at once. “What about Chandler?” He didn’t think he could handle the first thing that come to mind. He wasn’t good with permanence in general, but especially lately. He was just hanging on by a thread himself. Selfish way of thinking, maybe, but Chandler wasn’t supposed to be a part of this. If he’d never befriended him, he would have never gotten involved. Ultimately, he’d be the downfall of the only real friend he ever had. He knew that, but did it have to happen so soon? He waited with baited breath for Belva to continue, all released in a sigh of relief when she dampened his fear. Jail was preferable to being added to the body count.

“I didn’t know about that,” he finally said, bringing his hands to his face. He really was the worst friend. He was so self absorbed he didn’t even realize Chandler was missing, much less sitting in a cell somewhere. “Fuck. When did that... how long has it been?” Asking when it happened would do him no good. He had no idea what date it was. Hell, he didn’t know if the sun was coming up right now or if it was the middle of the night with his window all blacked out. “Has anyone even tried to help him?”

The men in the Athanas family were dropping like flies. First their father, bludgeoned to death in his office, and then July, apparently off for a strange vacation after messing with the time capsule. Ace was missing, something that had sent Belva into a near enough spiral, and Horatio was nowhere to be found either. The two siblings she was closest to, the only ones she’d ever felt close to growing up, leaving her with nothing but radio silence. Florence and Erebus seemed safe enough, Florence a comforting presence and Erebus kept at his usual difference, and December? Well, when the blonde sees that the older man’s door is open, she has to blink a few times to make sense of it.

She’d lost track of him after Summer Fest, their walk around the grounds a pleasant memory, but with all of the activity lately, he’d been another Athanas man she’d momentarily lost along the way. As her blue eyes takes in the mess of his room, the almost subtle enough slur to escape detection, she can’t help but to tense slightly. December may have been physically there, but his room seemed to suggest he wasn’t exactly thriving at the moment (which, given the fact that he’d grown up here, was that really much of a shock)? Belva wrinkles her nose in distaste at the thought of the attention around town, lingering by the door, unsure where exactly to step to enter the room. “It’s like it’s impossible for them to keep our names outta their mouth,” the blonde replies with a small huff, arms crossed over her chest, gaze settling on her brother.

“Because it is. They have nothing else going on.” With the events that followed the Athanas’ family around, it wasn’t hard to understand why reporters were so obsessed with them. It was like they couldn’t go a week with something coming out, and with Dad’s murder still unsolved and July missing, he could imagine it wouldn’t change anytime soon. It didn’t much matter to him if it did. He had nothing else to go back to. He didn’t particularly enjoy the staring and scowling around town, people he’d never met recognizing him, but it had gotten easy enough to ignore. Once everything went back to normal --- if it ever did --- he would only continue falling into a pit deep enough he couldn’t climb out on his own, and he’d be living somewhere alone. He may not carry on many conversations with his siblings, but at least he knew the rooms weren’t empty.

“I heard through the grapevine you had the chance to experience life behind bars,” he commented, maybe it was something he shouldn’t bring up but he was curious. He hadn’t been paying much attention to the paper. He was getting his news from the whispers around town. It kept it more exciting, anyway --- guessing what was fact and what was rumor. They sure liked spreading rumors. He’d heard a few about himself, and at this point he couldn’t figure out if they were things he’d forgotten he’d done or things that never happened. “You want to fill me in on what happened there? I’m lost.”

Facing the cluttered desk in his room, he turned when he heard footsteps outside of the door. “Hey there, come on in,” he spoke to the passerby with an only slightly slurred voice. “Don’t mind the mess.” (The mess being laundry, crumpled papers, chip bags and empty cans and bottles tossed all around the room, even the foot of the bed --- the only place spared the chair he was currently sitting on.) “Guess I’m still not used to picking up after myself. Kind of sad when you think about it, but at least I can make an episode of Hoarders in enough time... better attention than the kind we get around town, right?”

December can’t get past the idea of being such a horrible father to know if he wants children or not. He would love to be a dad, had circumstances been different, and there was a small point in his life where he dreamed of having a family. That dream was destroyed through his own self destruction. He can’t see himself bringing a child into this world, knowing he would only make them miserable.