the guillotine

His jaw tightens, muscles twitching beneath the tension of it all. He can’t imagine sitting back and letting someone else take care of it, but he knows if he says he won’t do it, that’s exactly what Ethan will tell him to do. There’s a fine balance between the two of them being friends and having to follow the organization they both work for. And while Samson doesn’t have an official title, he’s always worked as a second in command to the man. “Then I’d sit on my ass,” he grinds out. “And we’d have words afterwards. Or none at all.” 

He’s aware that amusement is a wholly inappropriate thing, but he can’t help the smirk on hi slips anyway, for a moment just shutting his mouth. He doesn’t believe him, not for a second, but he can choose to believe the words, or at least pretend to. Ethan’s always been bad at that part. "You’re tellin’ me what I wanna hear.” He snorts and then unlocks his phone anyway, wondering if he’s about to regret the action. It’s enough to make him hesitate, staring at the blurry picture taken from security camera footage before glancing back up at him.  “You said not knowing’d be worse, right?”

Bags slung over her shoulders her eyes lifted to the structure before her admiring the architecture. It was expansive in a way that was almost foreboding but she wasn’t in the brightest of moods as of late. Haven had been her home. 85 years of her life and aside from a few vacations she only really left the bar to hunt down those who had broken their neutral ground. Then again, that’s what this was after all. “So this is Kykuit Mansion..” 

By now Ethan’s familiar enough with the building behind him and the worn stone steps beneath his feet that he forgets how it looks to fresh eyes. It has a smirk on his lips as he walks out to meet the woman waiting there with bags in tow.  It’s his job to know who’s coming and going in and out of Kykuit, and he won’t let anyone say he doesn’t do his job. Though he’ll be first to admit that he usually lets Walcott handle meet and greets, simply because she’s better with people. “And you’re Cole?”

“Yeah! What? Not man enough to wander down the pink aisle at target? C’mon!” she teases. Though she has to admit she’d probably kill to see a man like Ethan Ford wandering the Barbie doll aisle in any sort of toy store. At the nod she nods back, a self assured smirk on her lips. “You know it, chief. I’m like the best there is.” Every single one of those weapons back in her room had a sigil of her own creation carved into the surface it was mounted on that locked it there. And somewhere inside each of them lurked one of Gale’s safety sigils, that if activated would lock the weapon up and render it completely useless until she released it. Something fairly basic for her but it was something she had present to higher ups to assure them that nothing would blow up in their face and that they’d remain safe. “Alright, I’ll put you first on the list. Oh! Speaking of which, I’m guessin’ Claire gave you my request for the guns. When do you think they’ll be coming in?”

“Now them’s just fightin’ words.” And there’s some contrary part of him that wants to show up wiht some stupid plastic pony toy just to prove a point. Though he’s more amused at the thought that she wins either way now, and he’d be annoyed by it if he hadn’t waltzed right in. “Yeah, don’t get cocky kid.” He straightens up, arms crossing over his chest, though he doesn’t argue the assertion that she’s the best at what she does. If she wasn’t, she wouldn’t be here, and that’s true of just about everyone under his roof. Not just because of the Tenebrae’s expectations, but his own. “Might be a few more days, but I’ll check in with her when she gets back. Heard you were training together?”

“It’s why I don’t bet. Always go for the underdog and they end up letting me down.” He smirks at the statement, but the next just have him lifting his eyes towards Ethan. There’s defensiveness that spikes at the words, but he knows Ethan and he knows that’s what he’s trying to do. Get a rile out of him. “I can still do my job,” he tells him and there’s just a flatness to his voice. That he doesn’t think it’s fair for Ethan to ask him the question. “Never knowing,” he says without having to think about it. It isn’t that he’s dead. It isn’t that he’s no longer his little brother. It’s that Sam just never finds out what happened. 

“Bet you’re not a Yankees fan then.” He doesn’t bother to argue the words, though to some degree he doesn’t doubt that. For almost seven months the man’s still been doing his job, even if he doesn’t think he can claim he hasn’t been distracted. But none of that had been personal, at least not on this level, and it’s suddenly more important to know the answer to that question. “So what if doing your job means sitting on your ass and letting someone else take care of it?”

There’s a reply on his tongue that he has to bite back. One that’s not nice and might not ever be. The question as to whether or not they’re actually looking. Six months. Six months of his brother be missing, almost seven and he doesn’t know if he actually believes that with all their resources, the Tenebrae doesn’t know where he is. Maybe had something to do with his disappearance. It’s paranoia. It’s mistrust that’s unwarranted. “Maybe,” he answers because it’s safer. Ethan is his friend, but he’s also more Tenebrae than anything. He snorts at the tv. “Ah. The classics.” 

“UFC. Lost money on this fight.” There’s a scoff at the answer, because he can recognize noncommittal bullshit for what it is. And it occurs to him he honestly doesn’t know what Sam thinks, or if he’s thought of anything except finding the kid. If he blames Ethan or the Tenebrae, if he blames Elijah, if he blames himself. With Sam it’s usually the last one, and it’s both a virtue and a vice. "Then what? You run off all half-cocked?” His head tips back, attention shifting more fully to the man next to him. ”In your head, what’s worst case scenario look like?”

“Whhhaaat? Okay no pony, but what about like one of those plastic pony toys?” Gale grins as she moves so she’s no longer dangling herself halfway across the back of the couch. It’s far from a serious request, but that was just Gale’s default. She was always a cheerful child, something she guessed she got from her dad, but that part of her only seemed grow after the accident. It was better to make jokes than to sit and feel sorry for herself. “Don’t worry, nothing leaves my room without me knowing. Shits on lockdown. And if anyone checks one out, you know they won’t be able to fire one inside unless I say so. Safety first, right?” Gale says, reminding herself to put her lock sigil in the guns when she got them. “Hey you wanna be the first one to fire a few shots once I’m done with the official testing?”

“What? A fuckin’ My Little Pony? I take it back, I’d rather get you the real thing.” And for a moment he’s laughing as much for the 80′s nostalgia as anything else. There are enough people in the house that are old enough to make him feel like a child, it’s not a bad thing to be reminded just how much of an old man he is when it comes to human life spans. “Good girl.” And there’s a satisfied nod at the answer, though he’s paranoid enough to wonder how true that is. The fae alone have sticky fingers, though he doubts goo would be the greatest of their worries if anyone started stealing from Gale. "Why yes, yes I would, thanks for asking.”

“If you want to put in the effort,” Sam says with a smirk. He heads over to the couch and without asking permission or even put much thought into it, he plops down onto the couch next to him, all but mirroring him with one foot up on the coffee table. The newspaper gets set down on the arm of the couch and he covers it with his arm, leaning back and frowning at the television. He’s not much of a tv watcher. Crime shows every now and again. Ironically enough, he enjoys watching Cops and he knows Eli would give him a hard time for watching it. “What are you watching?” 

“You really think you’re gonna find him first?” It’s more than Ethan usually says about it, for good reason. Plausible deniability. If Sam sticks his nose in the wrong place and it comes back around he’d rather not have his position put in danger for it. It might be self-serving, but it’s also his best attempt at following the rules. A thing he’s sitting here wondering if he should break, because if the rest of him’s relaxed, he can’t stop toying with his phone. “The fuck’s it look like? Golden Girls?”

Samson walks into the living room with a newspaper in his hand. This one’s from Indiana and while the front page and most of the newspaper means nothing to him, there are some things hidden and buried within the paper that interest him. Or might, once he follows up on them. He stops when he hears Ethan greet him him and nods his head at the man. “Hey,” he says, letting the paper down at his side. It means nothing to anyone else. He thinks Ethan probably already knows what he’s looking for. 

He eyes Samson for a moment, something in his expression drawing his attention more than the paper at his side. And another day it might be funny, that it’s an old hunter habit held by a man who’s not an old hunter. "Am I gonna have to pretend to lecture you?” He doesn’t mean the words, but he can’t manage much of a smile to accompany them. There’s a difference between turning a blind eye and actively assisting. He knows what Tenebrae policy is. He wonders if he’d give a shit about policy if it was his family in question. If it was Max, and it’s an odd thought to try and wrap his head around.

“It wouldn’t hurt. I mean, my birthday’s comin’ up after all,” the statement comes accompanied by a waggle of her eyebrows and an eager smile. Though the desire to receive birthday presents is nothing she actually expects though from anyone in the house, let alone Ethan. Which is nothing against him, she just knows he’s got other things that were more important. “Yeah, my own patented goo-glue. Basically you put a pod into the canon, fire it at the target’s feet and boom, they’re stuck once it’s hardens. It’s like a glue trap that you can just shoot, instead of setting up before hand and hoping someone will step in it. Completely non toxic and non lethal, unless the target winds up trying to eat their way out or if they try to gnaw their limbs out trying to escape…” Gale mutters as the memory of the jello incident replays in her mind. “I’m also working on a different formula for smaller paintball sized pellets.” she explains, glad to be talking about projects than think about her dreams again. 

“Don’t expect a pony.” Ethan smirks when he says it, though there’s something like guilt in the thought that he’s never been good with birthdays. Or anniversaries. But there’s never really been anyone to remember them for, and if there’s no bitterness in that thought there might be more regret today than there would’ve been a week ago. It’s nothing he dwells on, the easy smile on his lips because shop talk is always more effective at snagging his attention. And if personal preference is always for shoot first, ask questions later, he won’t argue with some non-lethal options. "Better be careful where you stash that one. Last thing we need is for someone to start firin’ inside the house.”

Max gives a small laugh, but it fades in the next moment. The smile doesn’t, but it changes from an amused one to a fond one. He never thought he’d be thinking that they were good memories to have, of his Mom telling him that he wasn’t ready, needed to train harder, needed to be better. She never told him he wasn’t good enough, only that he wasn’t ready. Sounds like she’d done the same with Ethan and it makes him study the man a little more closely. He doesn’t know what to truly think. This man is his father and he knows it. By blood only and he still hasn’t decided if that means shit to him. It’s more that this man is probably one of the only other people in the world who remembers Lucretia Mendoza and she deserves someone to remember her. “Yeah, it was one of her favorites.” 

For a moment he gets lost in his own memories, because it doesn’t matter if it’s been more than twenty years. The woman had left her mark on him, and not solely because she’d served as some catalyst that had changed his life. He’s alive today because of her, and if he drew the Tenebrae’s eye it was only because of what she’d taught him. And it’s no comfort to think that maybe they were never meant to be if their morals had conflicted so strongly, but it doesn’t change that he loved her. And this is her son standing in front of him. Their son, and he thinks it’ll take a while to adjust to the idea. Ford blood in his veins whether he asked for it or not.  “You wanna grab a beer?”

“I know, I know you totally love and adore me and everything I do. Just consider it a super early birthday present, late birthday present, or supppper early Christmas present from me to you.” she jokes, a cocky grin on her face before it morphs into something a bit more thoughtful and serious.Gale was nice and did try to get along with everyone in the house, something made a bit easier by her personality, but when it came to Ethan she seemed to subconsciously seek out his favor and opinion a bit more, probably because he was in a higher position of authority. That and she was always trying to prove to him that he had no reason to kick her to the curb since her accident. “Figured it would be good for non lethal target takedowns. I’m making the pods for the goo to go into so once that and the canon is done I’ll get to testing. What do you think? Anything I should add or get rid of?” 

“That mean I’m gonna haveta get you one?” There’s an easy smirk on his lips as he glances back up at her, though it’s not an uncommon thing. He’s a hardass when he has to be, but he’s been at this long enough to understand when it’s necessary to get a job done and when it’s just called being an asshole. And it helps that he finds gun schematics more along his interests. If he’s dedicated to the job and doesn’t have any real connections outside the Tenebrae anymore, it’s not a thing that bothers him. “Looks good to me. But explain to me what we’re gonna be firing here. Goo?” 

The words have him giving a small snort because they’re familiar. He thinks that while they had different styles, his Mom and Ethan had a lot more in common than either of them seem to want to admit. His Mom was just as strict and just as stern. It gives him a moment to wonder if they’re both as stubborn and he thinks that goes without question. He nods his head and the words aren’t meant to be anything but a peace offering, a foray into a subject neither of them want to breech. “My mom teach you that line?” 

It seems like dangerous territory when he’s not sure what’ll set him off, and some quiet urge to avoid it. Most people he doesn’t care. He’ll start swinging again if he has to, but even if he’s breathing easier and shoulders relaxed, there’s still some hesitancy there. The thought that he doesn’t want to be hated. But he answers anyway, and if the smile fades it doesn’t die completely. “Nah. But she used it on me enough.”

The words have him looking up at the man and for a minute, he wonders if it’s a joke. It doesn’t seem like it is and at first, all he can do is just laugh at him. He laughs and grabs his hand and pulls himself to his feet. “Fuck you, glad to have you,” he tells him but there’s no spite behind it, the words colored by humor and disbelief. The man likes talking about his feelings just about as much as Max does and it’s unreal. It’s completely unreal to him. 

It’s an unexpected weight off his shoulders, a quiet laugh escaping him as the kid takes his hand. Everything about this conversation seems written between lines that neither of them seem willing to cross completely, but maybe it’ll come. Maybe they never have to talk about it, and he can’t say if there’s relief in that thought or not. But it’s enough to have him breathing a little easier, that tension he’s been walking around with put on the back burner for now.

Max sits there and snorts, letting his head hang while he catches his breath. The man hits hard, is a tough sonofabitch and he can respect that. There’s still burning anger in his gut but it’s fading and he can recognize that it’s mostly over the entire situation. That he feels stuck, he feels trapped, and above all he feels alone against an other worldly army. And now he’s in this organization and it doesn’t feel any better. There’s just that heavy feeling of loss that still rests on his shoulders and even if it’s been a year, coming here has put it into perspective just how much he’s lost. 

The words don’t wholly surprise him, though it might that Max offers them at all. The next obvious question is why, but he doesn’t think he needs to. He knows. If he can pretend it’s a theory that doesn’t mean shit without a paternity test, he knows better than that. The kid’s here because his mother’s dead and the only family he has left is a hardass that signed onto an organization she hated. He’d be pissed too.

“Yeah,” she admits with a small laugh as she pulls her sleeve down. She doesn’t bother to go for her glove and leaves it cast aside on the couch. At the question a wide grin finds it’s way onto her face, “Yeah, but it’s gonna be tottaaaaally worth it,” she explains as her hand makes a grab for one of her papers riddled with detailed sketches that range from guns to canons until they narrow down to something that resembles a heavy duty t-shirt canon. “Nope. Not that one.” she picks up another, “Aaannnd not that either. Oh! There it is!”  Gale then pops up drapes her upper body over the top of the couch, leaving her to hang forward slightly as she holds up the piece of paper to Ethan- like she was a little kid showing their parent their new drawing. “I’m gonna make a canon!” 

Ethan can’t help the smile on his lips, the genuine amusement that Gale tends to summon in most people whenever she’s in the room. He’s well aware that she has reasons not to smile, and if that’s true of most people that sign onto the Tenebrae, most of them aren’t short an arm. But it’s never changed how he treats her, and there’s no hesitation when he pushes away from the wall. He saunters over to her to take the paper from her, tipping his head to eye the weapon scrawled on the page.  “Well damn, it’s not even my birthday.”

The man goes down and there’s more satisfaction in that than in landing a blow. His arm twists and there’s a spike of pain that he’s been trained to ignore for the time being. Pulled muscle maybe, nothing snapping like it could have. The anger fades almost as quickly as it had come and that’s mostly due to it not being directed at the man in front of him. He’d been angry at everything. The world. His Mom. The demon who’d gutted her. He was just angry. What was he supposed to do now if he wasn’t even welcome here then? 

Ethan snorts at the words out of his mouth, but for a moment he doesn’t say anything in return. Something like stubborn pride makes it too tempting to want to go over there and make sure he’s not under any illusions who’s in charge here, but he doesn’t know if that was ever really in question. The question is just whose blood runs in his veins, and for that moment he’s left staring back at him he doesn’t think that’s even really a question either. Whether he was present or not. It’s his temper, his pride, his stubbornness, all reflected back at him in the eyes of Lu’s son. It makes his chest ache with loss, that unfamiliar feeling like there’s a whole life he missed out on. And he almost tells him that if he’d known, he’d have stayed. Even if it doesn’t count for anything now.