KitCuna Geonosian Bugaboo

"I'll be fine on my own, don't worry." Lauren smiled, but it looked stiff, as though her facial muscles were warring with her. "See you in an hour."

Kym's gaze showed a glimmer of concern, before she turned cheerful again. "Alright then!" She saluted, turning on her heels and marching away like a soldier.

*Still as comedic as ever,* Lauren thought, turning her back to her friend as they both walked away in different directions.

In front of her stood many, many headstones, and the statue of the guardian angel of Ardhalis - *guardian*, really, she thought - which stood, facing the sky. If one looked closely enough, the bird droppings on its face looked like tear tracks.

Tightly clasping her bouquet of flowers, she walked up to the grave where the empty casket of her long lost friend was laid. A friend she'd spent a decade remembering, fighting for, searching for. A decade of hitting dead ends, trying to take down the organization that took her friend. A path that had eventually led her to the point of no return, teaming up with the most fearsome assassin the city had ever known, and to where she stood now - the organization taken down...mostly, and new headstones upon headstones of fallen comrades and innocent civilians.

Her friend's grave had not changed one bit. What had changed however, was the way she saw it all, the whole story. Her life. Now she knew, despite the untouched, empty grave under the soil, the truth. She knew enough truth and enough lies to stand there, still haunted, yet at ease.

A cool breeze blew through her red hair, raising it from her shoulders to dance in its flow.

"Growing up, we were taught not to lie. We were taught that lies are evil.

But sometimes, the truth is worse.

The days were worse when it rained. Not that it ever was, by any means, good; but misery hung lower than ever. The cold that seeped inside the bones, the grimy water that soaked through even the best boots, the sight of hungry children in rags, huddled together under any surface that could keep even a singular drop of water from falling onto their bodies…

It never got easier walking through the streets of Greychapel. And definitely not when the only reason why he wasn't among those kids was a wild, humiliating twist of luck. One that, if he could, he would happily throw away and leave behind…if only he could.

Instead of throwing it away or leaving it behind, however, he was actively walking towards Greychapel's famous cathedral - or perhaps infamous, after his own past deeds - where the messenger awaited him.

Before he knew it, he was standing in front of the heavy wooden door. It creaked as he pushed it and was met with the familiar sight that haunted his every day:

Through the stained glass of the high windows, rained in the dim light of the gray, rainy day. A puddle of water had formed under the hole in the roof, where new raindrops fell with a rhythm that echoed between the pillars and walls. And above all, hung a chandelier.

What would it be like to walk past the church, without memories of nightmares and waking horrors all flooding one's senses, what was it like to see the weathered building as a holy place of worship, one to long for, one to seek refuge in, to whisper silent please of deserved forgiveness for human mistakes; he wondered. He could only wonder, as the place was but one to dread, for him, one to avoid on his daily path, to hold his breath as he walked by, to stay alert and ready to defend as he walked in. The scenery but a grim reminder of his misery, one he'd brought upon himself, the architecture standing heavy with ghosts of his past, his spoken plea of forgiveness only a code - “forgive me father for I have sinned”, a mark that he was who the messenger was there to hear. And his silent plea of forgiveness…undeserved.

Day after day, murder after murder, his purple hyacinths lost their initial meaning, their purpose, getting closer and closer to the mask he'd assigned them: a threat to those who stood under the flag that bore the same flower.

Just as everyday, he got closer and closer to the monster he was afraid of becoming.

On his way, was the statue of the Mother and the Child, covered in vines and lichen, weathered by the salty breeze that flew in from the river. And at last came the confessional. Meant for confessing to sins you regretted, to vow you'd never commit them again, used to announce victory in missions of death and destruction, to receive new ones, to pile corpse upon corpse, a trophy of blood.

He cleared his throat before pulling aside the curtain, sat on the wooden bench and steadied his shaking soul with a sigh.

Kieran glared furiously at his reflection in the small creek of the cave. No matter what angle he stared at it, his face and his hands were covered in the blood of the people that he’d slain. He balled up his fists, relishing in the stings and throbs that resonated from the torn skin at his knuckles. He had half a mind to toss another punch at the unforgiving rock wall, but instead, he grit his teeth against the words that resounded in his head. “It was stupid of me to believe you could be human for even a second. You’re nothing but a monster.” With a hissed ‘tch’, Kieran spun and stormed out of the cave. 

The rain poured through the trees; Kieran closed his eyes, raised his head, and let the coolness of the liquid calm his vehement mind. Nothing but a monster. Yes, that’s precisely what he was; how could he ever dare to think that he could be anything more, anything different? He’d said more than he’d meant to Lauren and it brought back too many memories that he had kept under lock and key for so long. His already hollowed-out being felt even more listless and his glazed eyes saw the surroundings, yet took nothing in. 

In that state, Kieran trekked out of the woods and through the city. Now that he was thinking on it, it seemed every street held a memory of some kind. That’s the house I climbed up to escape after killing a traitor to the Phantom Scythe. And that was a bar owned by a couple that had their livelihoods destroyed because their child managed to spot a mercenary with his face uncovered. And here…. He stopped at a street corner. The lettering was faded now, and hard to see in the rain regardless, but if one looked closely, they could make out a H, A, R, and Y in white. Hanbury. 

What used to be a bustling avenue for those of high class was little more than a deserted street now. Even after it had been cleaned of the blood, the area was treated as though it was cursed - as if anyone who dared wander here would meet the same fate: killed by the Purple Hyacinth. 

Kieran shivered through his back, but it wasn’t the downpour that brought on the chill. His hands, though wet with rain, felt as though they were caked in sticky blood. In his mind, he could still see it as though it were yesterday…

[...]

Kieran sat in front of the bird-faced man with his arms crossed tightly against his chest while his cold eyes glared at the scratched wood of a worn desk. The tip of his pointer finger tapped quickly against his upper arm and the heel of his boot kept the same beat against the stone floor. “I don’t want to.” He said, grounding out the words through his teeth. “You have so many other people happy to cause a scene for you. Why not just use them?” 

The Phantom Scythe was not short of mercenaries, and many seemed to get a high off of the kill. Kieran couldn’t understand it, and he didn’t want to understand it either.

“They aren’t you.” The fourth messenger emphasized in a voice that was thickened and muffled from the massive mask. “The orders come directly from the Leader, and you will carry them out. You know what happens if you don’t.” 

“You’ve already taken everything from me,” Kieran growled. “What’s the point in it? Do what you want with me - beat me, chain me, whip me - I don’t care.”

The Messenger lunged forward in a smooth movement. It was fast - fast enough to tell Kieran that the man had quite a few… other hobbies aside from just yelling at henchmen on behalf of his Apostle. Kieran grabbed at the man’s wrist, but the Messenger’s second hand flashed out, and he took hold of Kieran’s collar. Despite Kieran digging his heels into the ground and bracing against the edge of the desk, the messenger ripped him forward and threw him onto the unforgiving stone floor. 

Kieran felt the impact through his back, and his breath left him in the same instant. Coughing and sputtering, he wrenched himself free of the Messenger’s grasp, scrambled back to his feet and drew his sword. The blade caught the light as it spun toward the sliver of exposed neck under the bird mask, but a clang of metal on metal told Kieran he’d been blocked just before the point of impact. 

The Messenger placed his hand on Kieran’s chest and shoved him backward with an excessive amount of force, leaving the young man to fall backwards onto the floor once more. “Don’t test me boy,” he spat back. “If you find your motivation lacking, we will get creative in our ways to make you comply.” 

“Tch.”

In the meantime, Lauren's own attempts to bargain with reality had clearly caught up to her. It crashed unceremoniously over her head, scattering into inescapable shards at her (proverbial) feet.

Her physical feet had to contend with other things, though. Grit and grime. Cold and damp. A tragic game of poker on her second day here had claimed her boots. And although she did occasionally win them back, that somehow never lasted long.

Well, at least she had plenty of free time on her hands, now. If Lauren had the energy, she would've rasped a wry laugh at the thought. The cold, abrasive cuffs on her wrists, weighed by a thick chain between them, were a solid reminder that she wasn't free to do as she pleased. The iron bars too, just barely revealed by their dull sheen in the grim light of her cell, were her inescapable companions.

A small grate, high above the wall behind her, served as her only method of keeping time. The late morning to early afternoon sun spilt through on several occasions – marking several days. While the beams poured in, Lauren passed time deducing, from their angle, the cardinal direction her cell faced.

Once the light faded, she was left to mark the seconds with the rhythmic drop of water from a leaking pipe somewhere.

Surprisingly, Lauren hadn't been treated with nearly as much harshness as she initially braced herself for. While she ached all over with bruises and cuts from rough handling – including the wound on the back of her head from when she was knocked out – she was still pretty much intact. Almost.

Shifting slightly, she winced and resisted the urge to clasp her stinging abdomen. With a breath hissed through clenched teeth, she tilted her head back. The tangled, messy knot of her hair did little to cushion her against the moss-lined, grime-caked brick. She could still feel the ickiness of it on her scalp – not that she had the luxury of fussing about it, though. Nor about the stained and muddy concrete floor, on which she now sat. 

It was still concerning, though – her injuries might develop an infection. Would they take action if that happened? If her life was in danger, they would be forced to. Lauren clearly wasn't brought here simply to die. Several times, when she had pushed too far in her quest to gather information from the guards, they decided to use violence to silence her, but it was clear even then; they had orders not to do any lasting damage.

So, physically, at least, they hadn't outright tortured her – unless she counted the disgusting fair they tried to feed her once in a while. I survived just fine on a blueberry for over two seasons, anyway. I'd rather starve than eat that garbage. 

Huddled against the icy cold and bitter wind, Lauren glanced up toward the train tracks. There was a part of her that hadn’t expected to hear from him again, a part of her that had moved on and dived with complete focus into her work. It had helped her forget about it all… to an extent, and the distraction was most welcome.

In the past five years, Lauren had climbed her way up to head detective now - a job that she took with the utmost sincerity, especially knowing how hard she'd had to work to get back onto Hermann’s good side. Case after case. She’d solved them meticulously and thoroughly while learning how to rely on clues aside from just the lies. If the Phantom Scythe had taught her anything, it was that hearing a lie could not tell her the truth of the matter, and in many cases, it may not even give her the full picture of what wasn’t true. 

So she’d take it as an inkling of a clue, and investigate around her until she found enough evidence to back up her claims regardless of if she could get a confession. Though it usually wasn’t hard with a few pointed questions once the facts were laid out in front of the suspects.

In the midst of one of her most difficult cases to date - aside from the Phantom Scythe - Lauren had received a letter. One in which a certain man stated that he was returning to Ardhalis in the coming months. Kieran had let her know the date and the time that the train would be arriving, and Lauren, unable to sleep the night before, had gotten to the platform nearly an hour early.

She regretted her impatience now, as the day was cold even by Ardhalis’s standards. With the next gust of wind, Lauren brought her hands to her lips to blow warm air onto them. Her eyes drifted to the clock. It should have arrived by now. Should she go inside of the station to at least get out of the wind? Logic told her yes, but despite that, her feet remained firmly routed to the platform. Perhaps she was too cold even to move at this point. 

A shiver traveled through Lauren’s spine, but on the next gust, she heard a faint whistling of a train engine. Bringing her head up, she sought for the locomotive on the horizon. In the end, she felt the rumbling of vibrations through her feet before she actually caught sight of the black ironed engine that led the cars behind it. The blowing of the whistle sounded again, this time loud enough to make her ears ache, but her focus was fastened to the windows of the cars as they passed slowly by where she stood, looking for striking turquoise eyes and black hair from somewhere within. 

With a light screech, the train finally halted, and the people poured off. From the southern regions, they were clearly unprepared for the bitter chill, and many of the passengers visibly shivered and jumped when the cold air met their lightly clothed bodies. 

In an ironic twist, it was the thick coat - so unlike everyone else that had gotten off - that Lauren’s eyes found first. Only after she’d examined the black wool did her eyes travel upward to find those familiar blue eyes. Lauren’s breath caught in her throat as she felt the world around her shift oddly in the moment that he, too, caught her gaze. The distance of the platform in that heartbeat was both astronomical and non-existent. 

“Kieran…” With his name, Lauren’s body began to thaw, and her feet which had previously been frozen to the earth beneath her finally moved. It was slow at first, but she worked her way into a sprint as she covered ground. Her shawl fell from her shoulders as she picked up speed, but Lauren hardly noticed. The chill in her bones was gone, her focus all dedicated to the one man before her. Her partner. 

She opened her arms and embraced him in one smooth motion, and felt the rumble of a laugh in Kieran’s chest as he returned the gesture. 

“Did you miss me, Detective?” he teased, tilting his head as he cast a lopsided grin back down at her. 

“Don’t pretend it’s one sided, Subordinate.”

With a wry smile and another nod of the head to the barkeeper, Kieran took his glass and made his way to his favourite spot: a more secluded corner somewhere in the back of the maze that was the insides of this bar. It wasn’t really a corner, as the layout was more orbital - every side room connected to other rooms and hallways, but still, this place was one of the quieter places when the inevitable rush of energetic students, workers after long days at jobs, lost souls, punks and rock music lovers flooded in, all looking for a little respite from the day-to-day horrors that were modern society. Trotting through hallways decorated in antique roughed up furniture, mirrors, nostalgic movie and band posters as well as graffiti tags, Kieran couldn’t shake the thought of what exactly it was that was causing all the changes on this otherwise mundane evening. Rounding a corner to one of the many rooms, he found an answer to his unspoken question: a little open space, made to look like a small stage. 

On the stage, instruments and cables littered about while a person nervously stood inside the chaos, drinking something from a ceramic cup with jittery hands. The woman was dressed in all black, which made their fiery strands of hair falling down her back stand out even more. With every tiny movement, her hair glimmered in the warm, dim light shown from olden lamps and candles all about the room. The candles were all held by vintage wine bottles, different wax coatings on those and some of it even having fallen onto the tabletops.

The fiery-haired woman moved the cup away from her mouth and let out a shaky breath, before moving to a table by the improvised stage where she put down the cup, her back still to Kieran. He was just about to resume his walk over to a table, when he heard her voice. She had started to do some voice warm up exercises. Even if they were only gibberish words and sounds, Kieran felt as moved as if he had heard his favourite poems sung out by a siren. Mesmerised, Kieran was locked in place, watching the slightly smaller figure move over the stage, practicing tone after tone, vocal after vocal. 

Meanwhile, behind the stage and out of Kieran's line of sight, two figures were bickering amongst themselves. The first of the two, a smaller, blue-haired woman, strutted in front of her taller, blonde companion. In her arms, the woman carried several cups stacked hazardously on top of one another. As the two rounded the side of the stage, the woman caught sight of Kieran, her mind processed only one thing: a tall, dark-haired, handsome man staring, captivated, at her best friend. In an instant, she stopped - grinning - and her companion, still fully concentrated on bickering and berating the woman about her cup-stacking antics, bumped into her. From there, the chain reaction began. A gasp left the mouths of both the woman and the man, and abruptly interrupted the soothing stream of sound from the red-haired woman’s warm-up. The singer, seeing her friends falter as the cups tumbled from their jenga tower, stumbled forward, reaching to catch them. With four of them secured in her grasp, the singer fell the rest of the way to the floor, leaving the blonde man to move forward and snatch the remaining three from the air, leaving him in an awkward hug around the smaller woman. 

Kieran, who hadn’t noticed how much time had passed since he was locked into place by the red-haired woman’s voice, shook off a bit of the hypnotised feeling as the singing stopped and commotion hit. Putting his glass down in a hurry, he rushed over to the singer on the floor. In stretching out a hand to help her up, he noticed the wetness of his hand. Unsure if it was from the condensation of the glass or previously unnoticed nervousness, Kieran self-consciously wiped his hand on his pants before kneeling down in front of the singer. His turquoise eyes met her golden, molten-amber as the woman with the mesmerizing voice looked up at him from the floor, caught cups in hand. 

“You’re early,” Lauren said. 

“Something of a habit, I’m afraid.”

“An hour early.”

“I figured it couldn’t hurt to offer you a hand before everyone else arrives.”

“What makes you think I need help?” She asked. “I could have been ready hours ago for all you know.”

“You have fake cobwebs in your hair,” he said simply. 

Lauren turned her face away, embarrassed, and put her hands to her hairline to locate the offending decoration. But without a mirror, she didn't have much success in distinguishing cobweb from hair. Kieran took a step toward her and reached out, gently untangling the material from her hair and pulling it off of her. 

He lifted one corner of his mouth in a small smile. “There. Do you, uh, do you want the cobweb back?” 

Lauren snatched it from his hand and took a few steps backward into the house. “Come inside,” she grumbled. “Since you’re offering to help, you can hang things in high places for me.” 

With Kieran’s help, the rest of the decorations were put up quickly. Lauren stood in the living room, surveying the atmosphere. She nodded to herself, finding the decorations to be adequately spooky and fun. 

“Do you have a costume?” Kieran piped up from an armchair. 

“Oh, dammit, I forgot to plan one,” Lauren bit her thumb as she tried to think of a last minute costume she could throw together. 

“Any ideas?” Kieran prodded. 

“No, I’m not sure I have anything at hand that could work. I know Kym said she and Will are dressing up as vampires. Maybe if I wear a suit and do some scary makeup I could pull that off?” 

Kieran hummed thoughtfully. “And have three vampires? You know Kym will immediately know that you forgot to prepare anything and copied her idea.”

“Well, do you have anything better?” 

He smiled devilishly. “I’d like to see you as a princess.”

[...]

“You’re blushing.”

Lauren wanted to hit him for the fact that he wasn’t lying. Instead, she huffed and marched into the kitchen. Naturally, Kieran was only a step behind. 

“What about you?” Lauren said before he could speak again. “You didn’t have a bag or anything when you got here. You’re not going to dress up?” 

Kieran shrugged. “It’s not my thing.”

She raised an eyebrow at him as she aimlessly pushed around a box of chocolate on the kitchen island. 

“I’m just not the dressing-up type. Espionage aside.”

“If you say so,” Lauren said. “But Kym is gonna have words about that.”

He put his hands in his pockets and shrugged. 

The doorbell rang. Lauren looked up at the ornate clock hanging on the kitchen wall. “Three already?” She muttered, and rounded the kitchen island to get the door. Kieran ambled along behind her, hands still in his pockets.

When the door opened, Kym entered the house in a flurry of movement, and an exhausted William trudged in behind her, carrying several garment bags. “Hi,” he said. 

“Hey,” Lauren replied, Kym already halfway down the hallway toward the living room. 

“I’m going to change into my costume!” Kym shouted by way of greeting. Lauren looked back at Will. He just smiled tiredly. 

“She’s been waiting all week for this,” he said. “Hardly a day has passed where she hasn’t talked about it.”

“Her enthusiasm will surely bolster everyone else’s,” Lauren said. “Are you going to change, too?”

     Finally stretching the last strip of gauze over the thin flesh of his wings, Lauren shifted to sit more comfortably cross-legged beside him. As soon as she signalled she was done with a tap on his shoulder, the dragon decided he was tired of resting on his front.

     Giving her plenty of time to move away, pushed himself up, flipped onto his back, and set his head into her lap. Automatically her scent of ash and daisies flooded his senses, draining any remaining tension from his body.

     ‘She could have been killed. I could have killed her. And she wouldn’t be here anymore… No, she wouldn’t have let me. Don’t think like that, Kieran.’

     He shuffled from beside her to in front of her, lazily blinking up at her curious face a few times until he lost the strength.

     “Thank you. For coming to save me. Even if I was what you were saving me from.”

     His wings curled up around his form when she carded her fingers through his hair. Every few swipes, Lauren made sure to scratch the bases of his horns. She had noticed when he lost himself in his own head just now, only allowed to worry a fraction before he returned. Though it seemed he had brought back the part of him that craved physical reminders of her existence, evident by both his sudden choice of pillow and the way his tail was slowly stretching up to curl around her wrist.

     ‘He looks so vulnerable like this. Like a dog who’s finally found somewhere safe to sleep…’

     With more caution than she actually needed, Lauren leaned down. Her hair formed a vermillion curtain around them. It was her turn to block out the world, to shroud the two of them away in their own bubble. Gently, she brushed away a stray strand of ebony. It left his cheekbone fully uncovered for her to softly press her lips against.

     “Thank you for letting me.”

     His eyes cracked open again. His irises were still glowing faintly, like always. The light was dimmed by his fully blown pupils, but no less brilliant wherever it evaded the black holes. They scanned her face as though memorizing every aspect of her, like she would disappear within seconds and he wanted to hold her in his mind for as long as possible.

     If she was honest with herself, it was a bit flustering. To be the object of such an intense, almost adorational stare, was flattering but hard to get used to.

     Then they were gone, hidden behind fluttering eyelids.

     “Hnn… I’m tired.”

     “We can’t sleep yet, Kieran. You need to eat something.”

     “You need to eat. I had my fill when I was rounding up nuisances.”

     He tried to flash her a smile, but she was quick to smack the side of his head. “Not funny. Now get up, we both need to eat.”

     A low grumble vibrated from his throat.

     “Kieran.”

     “Sleepy.”

     “Kieran, I will hit you.”

     “And I… will cry.”

     Promptless, Lauren pulled her legs out from under him. With no cushion, Kieran’s head fell to the furry rug. The redhead stood up and stepped out of reach before he could drag her warmth back. Immediately, he whined in offense.

     “Mean!"

     “Stubborn.”

     “Mean and cranky!”

     “Stubborn and hungry. Now get up before cranky becomes hangry.”

     His eyes rolled so hard they may as well have rolled onto the floor. Lauren had already turned away, only informed of his begrudging rising by her sense of hearing. She was scanning the cavern for something substantial to serve as dinner.

     “You’re so mean. This is animal cruelty.”

     “Animals lack the ability to annoy me in retaliation like you do. This is regular cruelty.”

     The artist groaned, fighting a smile. The day her ability to counter him left would be a sad day indeed. For him and for the world.

     “You win, I’ll feed you. Such a needy human…”

Bang.

She quickly turned to find the kid from the file, lying on the ground with a bullet wound in his side.

Ugh, seriously?

She took out her blade as she heard steps moving towards them.

"And you are the promising recruit?" she questioned him.

The kid spit some blood. "Kieran."

"Right."

A man ran around the corner and she threw her dagger straight at him. The blade lodged itself right in his neck, knocking him over and leaving a trail of blood as he fell.

She took a few slow steps towards the body. "And what were you trying to do with this guy? Thought you'd lure him in for his uniform and failed miserably?"

"Something like that," Kieran responded in a defeated tone. "Didn't think you'd be here already."

Was he implying she wasn't as competent as he was? Even after getting shot? She would not let him win.

Bella took the blade out of the neck and wiped it clean. Then she grabbed the corpse by the collar of its bloody uniform. "Well, this one won't do. Guess we'll have to get two more guards for their uniforms before we kill them." She turned back to him, a sarcastic smile on her face. "Hopefully three missing guards won't raise alarms at the house."

He sighed. "Um. Belladonna, right?" Hand still on the bullet wound at his side, he sat up. He stared at her for a moment as if waiting for confirmation, but received none.

She dropped the corpse in front of him. "Patch yourself up and hide this while I get two more guards." As she left the room, she added, "And don't worry, I can save you some of the fun later; if you prove yourself useful that is. I'm sure you wouldn't want me to keep all the killing to myself."

He glared at her but still agreed. "Sure."

Bella was getting tired of his antics already and the mission hadn't even started. Still, she couldn't let him get to her.

She lured the first guard behind the warehouse.

Why did she have to be paired up with this kid?

Knocked the guard out.

What was so special about him that she had to be recommended just to work with him?

Then, she lured the second guard using the other one's body.

Clearly he was some sort of Protégé to the Fourth, but why?

Knocked the second guard out.

Someone who got shot so early into a mission shouldn't even be important enough to be kept alive.

She brought both of the guards back to the warehouse.

In it, Kieran was tending to his wound. His build was a little bony, but not completely. It was as if he started eating properly just recently. He seemed to have a little muscle too, which was to be expected from training under the Fourth. If it weren't for his close ties to the apostle, Bella would've assumed he was a Graychapel kid who’d joined the Scythe to feed his family or something along those lines.

The floor seemed to be cleaned up a bit too. Not completely, obviously, but enough to pass for a dirty floor rather than a murder scene. The bloodstains didn't look like bloodstains anymore and the corpse was gone.

At least he knew how to do something right, it seemed.

Tending his wounds and removing the obvious evidence was the bare minimum, but the kid wasn't completely useless, which worked well for her. Incompetent enough to not surpass her, competent enough to not get in her way. At least she wouldn't need to worry too much about him.

"Here, one for you." Bella dropped one of the guards at Kieran's feet. Then she lifted the other one. "And one for me."

They stripped each of the guards of their clothes and changed into them in complete silence, which she was thankful for. After a rough start, she was glad to finally be back on track with the mission. She wouldn't let her apostle down. Now all that was left was to kill the guards so that the real work could actually start.

     “Kieran.”

     Ugh, no. Not her. Not now. His monsters lamented the viper’s presence, scorned by her newfound power to pull him from their clutches. Her cold voice was familiar, light steps intentionally heavier to bring him back to the surface.

     “Yes, Bella, I’m here. I’m… I’m here.” 

     Her frigid hands managed to freeze him through his clothes, but it was a welcome frost compared to the boiling. 

     “You’re here for a reason, Flower Boy. If I had to do this shit so do you.” She flashed him that sharp grin and held up her banded left hand. It was this, her casual calmness in the face of his common storm that finally grounded him. For it reminded him of why he was here in the first place. Who he was here for…

     “Ah yes, a normal stipulation of friendship; exchanged suffering.” It felt good to smile, even if it was small and sarcastic. Bella sat herself up on the bathroom counter, kicking her feet at the perfect angle to bump his leg without risking dirtying his dress pants.

     “How else would the universe keep us in check, Kieran?”

     “I think it sent us the women of our dreams and made us work to keep them.”

     Her laugh, though wry, was comforting. “Cheers to that, I suppose.”

     They shrugged together, and Kieran actually felt some of his nerves fall back. The suit jacket was less suffocating. Breathing came easier, not some grating battle to force air into his lungs.

     “You ready to face the music, K?”

     He heaved a final sigh, mustered a more relaxed smile, and nodded his stiff neck. “As ready as I can be…” His old friend hopped down with a hummed giggle, clearly excited to watch her companion’s wedding despite her teasing. Bella straightened his tie, then brushed away imaginary dust to make him as presentable as humanly possible.

     He was ready. He was ready for this. Otherwise, life wouldn’t have put him here yet. Bella was right in that.

     Just as he accepted his place, a rambunctious blunette burst through the door. Her white suit was marred with dirt and blood dripping from her temple, hair loose from its small bun. The expression on her face rivaled the hopelessness Kieran himself bore mere moments ago.

     He lost sound again, every sense going dull in a haze of something. A monstrous cacophony he couldn’t decipher even after so many years together. All he knew was the singular, heart stopping phrase Kym had panted out as the last thing he heard.

     “They took her- Lauren-“

     A blur of pink caught the collapsing officer before she could hit the floor. Kieran was gone in a matter of milliseconds. Tearing through Sinclair Manor, crashing into his soon-to-be in-laws. It didn’t matter where he was going, just that he moved. The air in his body vibrated with a rage he hadn’t felt since the collapse of his old captors.

     He nearly ripped the back doors off their hinges. White, blue, gold and black greeted him. A beautiful venue he’d agonized over for weeks. Every detail, every hyacinth and daisy and rose carefully picked from a combination of nurseries solely for her.

     It was too much. Too many colors. Too many sounds. Too bright compared to the void consuming his vision.