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Every night is a night where he tries to prove to her that he's a man. She says that she'll only stay if he amuses her. He can understand that, Darla is almost 400 years old, she's seen it all, done it all. "What story are you going to tell me tonight Lindsey." She swirls her blood and wine, "...What illustrious tale of your life are you going to share with me in an attempt to keep my interest?" "I wish you wouldn't make me do this." "Aw come on. You're like a young, virile...male Scheherazade." A hand strays across his chest, "...You know everything about me. I don't see why I can't know something about you." When he detects the resentment in her tone he leans back to think. --- He is born the third son of a disgruntled former country music star. Those are Roy McDonald's words. In reality he played a few shows and could have gone somewhere if not for Hannah Fey, nursing student. Some women are born enraptured by certain men and Roy - with his cowboy attitude and rolled up sleeves crooning about lost loves steals her heart. She steals his, and his future (so he says when the drink is in him). They don't make Lindsey that night, they make Daniel McDonald - former bookworm turned convict. She drops out of school and he returns to the family farm. Tale as old as time. To be fair, Hannah is a good mother. Within a span of two years they have Daniel and Coraline. She has a way about her and Roy has a way about him and when Roy takes a second job at the grain mill Hannah settles into the role of housewife. Lindsey is Lindsey because she tried to reach for her old life, a nurse (maybe even a doctor) and announces that because she is carrying so low she is going to have a girl. She names him to the priest, he's practically already baptized. When he comes out a boy she is maybe too tired to change the name for the small squalling child in her arms. --- At this Darla laughs, "Your parents were possibly the laziest people I have ever met. How peasant, what a mother-" "Don't you say that." His mouth curls, "You talk like that about my mother and I will stake you so fast your head will spin." She stops short, the sudden violent outburst causing her to raise an eyebrow. She settles in, motioning for him to continue. ----- Lindsey loves his mother. For three blessed years she is his and his alone. He is a smaller baby then his older brother and sister, they are thick as thieves and his mother - his mother is his best friend. He is sick a lot in those early years and he stays home. The good times, they bake cookies, she settles in to watch stories and he crawls into her lap and asks her questions. Her favorite show? LA LAW. "...What's your favorite part about this show Lindsey?" "Car." He has a bear - Coraline has all of the stuffed animals but he has been given a wonderful mottled bear. Bear is half in his mouth and half in his arms as he lies across her lap, "Shiny." ---- Is that a smile he imagines on Darla's face? No. she's humoring him. Or screwing with him. Never the less he continues. This is the longest anyone has listened to him since...well. Since Eliot. ---- Eliot arrives when Lindsey is 3 and a half. They still have their moments together but when Eliot arrives Lindsey is suddenly second. He hates it only briefly for his mother in the maternal way of most parents involves her special little puppy in Eliot's care. He does not do the messy jobs (although he sometimes will volunteer to his mother's joy) but he does sit with him, play with him - hide and seek and such. He even shares his bear, his beloved bear. It's almost as big as Eliot is and when his brother rolls over onto it and lets out a shriek Lindsey is full of apologies. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry I didn't mean to I'm sorry..." But Eliot has pulled the bear on top of him and he's smiling - his first laugh because of his brother. ---- When Lindsey is six, he becomes sick. Violently ill. It's going around, Lindsey burns up with fever. His family cannot afford a doctor. He has been given a bedroom of his own for the duration of the fever and it must be bad because his brother and sister stand by his doorway full of grief. Eliot is whisked away every time he comes seeking his brother, bawling in the night as Lindsey stares death in the face. Scarlet Fever How the hell does someone get scarlet fever in this day and age. His father has gone to Dallas to beg for aid, his mother is constantly beside him, she sleeps in his room but she has gone to take a shower - she has to do so regularly so she does not pass it to the other children. It is there that Eliot in a desperate attempt to regain his playmate tries to heal him. Coraline still has stuffed creatures, a whole zoo of them. Eliot begins with the bears. Five of them. He drags them in his chubby 3 year old hands and sets them carefully on Lindsey's bed. Then wolf, wolf is almost as big as he is, it takes a lot of effort. Monkey, pig, rat. The world is dragged to Lindsey's bed and placed carefully placed on top of him. He wakes, adrenaline fills his mind and burns. Thousands of glass eyes staring down at him. He lets out a scream. Dozens of glass eyes stare him down. He screams again and his mother comes running. Eliot begins to wail and she has to call Coraline home from school. Daniel doesn't come. After Eliot has been calmed and the stuffed animals have been removed Lindsey wakes up in a puddle of his own sweat to find Eliot staring at him. His big eyes are filled with tears (Did you know that all babies are born with the eyes they'll have as adults?) "Sorry 'indsey." He approaches the bed heedless of his brother's protests, "...Sorry. Sorry Sorry Sorry..." Big wet tears roll down his cheeks. He has bear, their beloved shared toy in his hands, "...Tried to make you feel better." "S'okay short stack." "You want bear?" Lindsey peers over and the moment that creature's eyes appear he recoils. It's an effort not to scream again. "No. No thanks." He pats his brother's head, "...You keep him." ---- "And that's why I hate dolls." "...Stuffed animals." "Dolls." "It's endearing. To be fair, I can't stand them either. Those glass eyes, and that was in the days when they were finely crafted creatures." "Was that worth it?" "I always enjoy a good story with screaming." Darla slides into his lap, "Although to be fair, the image of you as a child in such a predicament...it was sweet." As sweet as the kiss Darla gives him. There in his apartment - not a single doll in sight. "...So you'll stay?" "Until tomorrow." she sashays to his bedroom, "Scheherazade."

Five Characters~ Daisy "Jay, well. You'll never believe this story so I do believe I'll have to set it up a little bit..." The young officer was curled around her sleek like a cat, sitting against the passenger side of her car, full of adoration, "You're a poet at heart, I'll bet you could do it." "Well, I couldn't have been more then five or six you understand. That's important to remember, you have the bliss of being naive and young without understanding how the world really works." She watched Jay focus on that and saw (or thought she saw) something dark pass across his features. She ignored it, making it for later thought. "One of the groundskeepers had this cat. Fat orange tabby, and they used to bring it over for us to play with. One day the cat had kittens and the urchin's mother - what a dear woman - wanted me to have one. Well I selected the prettiest little kitten but it didn't want me. Can you imagine." "No." Jay's voice was matter of fact, he couldn't imagine anyone wanting to be with her forever, "It ran?" "Right out of the house! It was quite a scandal. I'm not one to deny myself anything you understand so I ran after it, scrambling up the tree in my day dress and falling right down flat. I cried and howled but the poor little creature didn't come down after me until Ettie, you met Ettie." "I did." "Ettie said, "Miss Daisy, you'd best come in." Daisy drew herself up doing the best accent to mimic the old housekeeper that she could, "I'll call the fire department." "Oh and Jay they came charging around the bend and it was beautiful. Bright horses, that adorable little dalmation running along side. Bells clanging and those beautiful uniforms with buttons. I thought they were the circus, I thought they were angels descending. The groundskeeper urchin - he had tears in his eyes pointing at that dirty little monster and one of them scaled the tree - just like that and brought the creature down to him!" "Well that's what firemen do. I can think of a number of -" He stopped at the look on Daisy's face, "...Daisy?" "Well I went up to him then and there and I thanked him. Because the little urchin boy was crying. He was sobbing with joy and that little cat he just meowed and cried and cried. It was a small reunion but to a girl of five or six it was the greatest story that could ever be told." "So I grabbed Ettie's hand and I said, "Ettie Ettie, I want to be a fireman!" Silence in the orchard. Daisy folded her hands in her lap and Jay Gatsby, perfect unusual Jay Gatsby, laughed aloud, "You?" "I was only five..." "You wanted to be a fireman?" "well you must understand I craved the color, the pomp.." "Charge into fires? Pull cats out of trees?" "Save lives?" "I was young!" her words had a finality of ages, a hard weathered noise of someone who knows they will never get what they want, someone who works hard only to know they will achieve nothing by some insurmountable obstacle. Daisy was honest. Jay was not. Jay for his part stopped and stared at her, "...A passing fancy?" "Oh of course." She laughed, a silly laugh, the laugh of a silly girl, "My hands aren't made for fire fighting. And the fire fighter sat me aside and said that girls couldn't do that but perhaps one day I would have sons who could be fire fighters, but that they probably had a lot more important things to do..." Silence filled the car between the two of them and in his mind's eye he tried to picture Daisy in a fireman's coat, riding along the side of a truck. In his failure he felt for the first time that he was oppressing someone. That by virtue of being who he was he was denying someone, he who had been denied so much. "It was quiet a let down, but I was five and that very night daddy brought me home a pony and I quite forgot all about it, but you'd asked me about silly dreams and so I thought I'd share what I knew before I became so wise." He turned his thoughts away from her and reflected not for the first time life is not fair. "Jay? You've gone so quiet." Daisy reached for him, laying against him like a wind against a sea in turmoil, calm, full of purpose and direction. For her part in life was a part that she knew, and while men and women both may dream of better things it takes the knowledge of someone who has learned that dreams are sometimes never achieved for them but for others to make a life. Reality beat against fantasy like a gentle wind, the air filled with the smell of lilacs, and Jay Gatsby's "Sorry" was blown away in the wind. It was wise, he could not have said what he was apologizing for.

FIVE CHARACTERS: ~ "Don't worry about this my boy." There's blood on the older man's knuckles. He's seen war, been up close in the trenches with the smell of bodies and blood and horror all around him. In a setting that should be safe he watches the man clean his knuckles. Their connection is moaning on the floor, blood dripping from his broken teeth. "You're the face to this. I don't want you to dirty your hands." But at night he has his goals in mind. He turns them over in his mind while he twists and tosses in the deep ocean of his mind. He has goals and they gleam in his mind every time he opens his eyes - there. Just there, a light in the darkness. A man with one foot in Calvary. To get to heaven you have to walk through hell. His daddy used to say that, every time their one horse cast a shoe, their cow went dry and dust blew in the wind while his parents counted their pennies and counted themselves lucky to be alive. Heaven was there in his minds eye, sitting up in bed he could see it and remember her beside him her touch the touch of paradise. Proof there was a higher power. "...Dear boy." Meyer pats his shoulder, "I said you didn't have to involve yourself." "And yet somehow." There is blood on his white suit, "You didn't stop me, and you're smiling." Jay Gatsby's business connection (and he was sorry) lay on the ground groaning in pain. "Well no. If you want to get anywhere in life you'll have to get your hands dirty. The road to heaven - sometimes you have to -" "Walk through hell?" "You'll do just fine." He patted his shoulder again, "Let's talk about more work that you can do." He dug himself deep, knowing the lower he went the harder the climb, but the rewards would be great.

Hayley grew up lonely but not alone with two parents and a turtle in a small three bedroom two bath on the outskirts of queens. Her parents were good people, or at least they tried as the neighbors could attest. Mr. and Mrs. Hoffman-Kerry made the neighborhood safer. They made the property values go up simply by being there. So they made small talk and invited them to PTA meetings (whenever you can come, no big deal, no big deal at all) and they would watch the girl and encourage their little boys and girls to play with Hayley. Hayley was neither tall nor short, neither fat nor thin with her mother's auburn hair and her father's startling blue eyes. She liked to wear pink and had a ballerina backpack and a ballerina barbie that her grandmother gave her and the neighbors would say that's real nice and wonder what her parents thought and what they did as sometimes that poor little doll seemed like her only friend. In reality Hayley's parents had bought her toys. She had quite a few new ones and periodically they would bring home other items. However they were always in bags on her bed-love mom and love dad-nothing was handed to her no explanation provided. Instead of a child, they treated her like a roommate. They both seemed content with this, but she was just a little girl, and Hayley could not help but feel that her life lacked something as she saw her friends handed off to school with homemade lunches and parents clapping and coming to career day. She did not want to broach the issue. Her parents were cops, the police. Their work at dinner was all about casework so she knew about homicides and the latest byplay of that political hooker who was mayor. Occasionally her mother (sometimes her father) would broach the topic of how her day was. She would respond. They were contented. Until Creepshow. Hayley had a blanket. It was her favorite thing in the entire world beyond her barbie doll. She liked to wrap it around her shoulders and pretend it was a cape or sometimes she'd take her stuffed animals and wrap them in it and hold them like a baby. Tonight it was keeping her warm. She had Mr. Kitten in her arms and trying to fall asleep. Except she couldn't. A common childhood dilemma, it was cold. Frustrated, she sat up in bed heedless of the lack of lights. Unlike other children, Hayley had been schooled in firearms and firearm safety. Both of her parents had made it abundantly clear there were no monsters. Every childhood fear had been laughed out of her by three. Every childhood nightmare had been stomped out of her by four. At least that's what she told herself. Putting on her robe she shifted her blanket in one arm and wrapped Mr. Kitten carefully in it then padded down the stairs. The downstairs was lit by the warm glow of the television set. Her father had his arms back, contented, watching old people with old clothes. He was drinking a beer-well-sipping at it and looked like he'd gotten home late. Again. Mommy worked days, Daddy worked nights and on the best days... Hayley Hoffman screwed up her courage to creep closer. Clutching her doll and blanket she crept across the living room hoping to make it to the linen closet just as the television shifted. Two people were being buried in the sand at the beach. She'd never been to the beach and wasn't sure she wanted to go if people were buried there for fun-a man with white hair was laughing and then the tide came in and he didn't dig them up. Her slippered footsteps caught and she watched him taunt the two figures as her father continued to drink and the figures were under water... She could stop watching now. Beginning to move across the living room again the music picked up and the people on the screen were back-but gross. Pale and pasty white, they reached out their hands and with a loud resounding boom appeared back in reality clearly dead. Hayley Hoffman screamed. Her father shot up off the sofa and had his gun drawn and Hayley-stressed beyond all things began to cry. He holstered the weapon instantly. Mark Hoffman was a dim figure in the light of the set, "Hayley-What are you doing up?" Would it seem churlish to claim she was TRYing to get a blanket? That he had woken her? Would he be angry? Adult resolve dissolved in the fact that her father had drawn his gun, something he swore he would never do (if mommy found out she'd probably yell at him some more) and Hayley started to cry. -------- Mark Hoffman moved around the couch. Hayley appeared out of nowhere looking like some lost little thing holding a doll and trying unsuccessfully to sneak past him. Ashamed of himself, he scooped her up and set her beside him, "What the fuck. Is the matter with you?" Hayley only cried harder, "Hayley-Hail! Look at me, look at-why are you down here-why-" More tears ran down her cheeks, "Aw come on kiddo, come on baby doll don't do that." "I'm sorry..." "What-what why?" He willed himself to coherency, "Daddy was downstairs watching a movie and you came down here and.." "I was cold..." She sniffed, "I was going to g-get a blanket from the c-closet and...." She whimpered, "I didn't mean to scream..." He swallowed the words "Stop it." and clutched the shaking child to him. For the first time in six long years he felt for the girl, "Stop, stop...It's okay." Her shoulder shook, "Daddy's here." A veil lifted between them and he held her close as creatures screamed on the TV set and the horror movie continued, "Daddy's here. Daddy's here I'm not gonna let you go." "You do let me go. You do that and you and mommy." Hayley wailed, "...I shouldn't haveta go get a blanket. I'm six." she sniffed, "...I should be able to yell and you should come and get me." "...But eventually you'd have to do it yourself." "But not right now!" "Sweetheart your daddy is really tired and also kind of tipsy..." "No." Hayley's brow furrowed, "No. No I'll say it now. I'm still a kid. You should take care of me. Not the other way around. I want to be able to yell for my dad...and to have scary dreams...and tomorrow I want somebody to write me a nice note and put it in my lunch that I DON'T PACK!" Mark Hoffman faced down murderers, rapists, monsters, thieves, and inhuman behavior. He could hold his own against a drunken biker on PCP and live to tell the tale. He quailed under the assault of the angry sobbing child with his eyes and her mother's hair and her mother's righteous Irish temper. She might have his eyes (and his nose goddamn) but when she got angry and she had those big tears on her cheeks she looked like Alie. He sat back, "....There's a lot I want to say here." "...Yeah? Like what." She crossed her arms and curled inward, "I don't want to hear it." "...Can I fucking talk for once? Okay?" He snorted and leaned back, prepared to explain the difficulties of his job and how hard he worked to provide for her. How her mother had been pressured into keeping... His child was soft and warm and snuggling up against him. She buried her face in his shoulder, "...'m still cold." "...What were you going to say Daddy?" "....This is one of daddy's favorite movies." Hoffman settled back on the couch, "We can finish watching it and then you have to go to bed because you have school tomorrow." He smiled, "I'm gonna cover your eyes in some cases okay?" "...Is it scary?" "...Yeah. Well no, not really but you're young so it'll probably scare you." He held her, "You just hold onto me though." "...Nothing's going to get me." He tilted her chin up to look her in the eye, "...I won't let them." The next day, she found a brown bag on the counter when she woke up. Inside was a lunchable-a pizza lunchable-and one of her mother's yogurts and a slice of cake and a salad. Far too much food for one kid to eat. She traded the yogurt away for a chocolate bar (who knew) and the cake and salad she ate and put the lunchable in her cubby for the next day. And when she came home the neighbors smiled warmly as both Mr. and Mrs. Hoffman were there on time and the house was filled with warm light. "Did you get my note?" They were at dinner ,the three of them-fried chicken with Alison Kerry doling out mashed potatoes to the group. "...Your note?" "Yeah. I wrote you one. You told me to write you one." He raised an eyebrow, "...Didn't throw it away did you?" Her eyes went wide. Going to her back pack she rummaged through it and pulled out the lunchable (half eaten. far too much food.). Stuck to the bottom was a sticky note. "...Do good. Love Dad." At the dinner table, Alison Kerry reached for her husband's hand. He took it right back as the girl ran forward, "Do good! do good." She threw herself into their arms.

"Do you know my dear boy, I admit that while I considered it..." "You never saw it particularly as possible?" "I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop and you to admit my pet...that this in fact a flood." "No." Severus Snape trailed one long finger down the other man's chest. He kissed him once, delicately on the neck and nestled calmly into the pillows of the Marquis bed, "I've finally fallen sway to the long hours that you spent trying to convince me." "That, my dear boy, is code for flood." He ran a hand through the other man's hair, "...Obequitous code, but code none the less. Gentlemenly candor compells me to not do or say anything." "Not that you don't want to." A hand slid down the older man's thigh, "Not that you don't want to at all?" "That." One hand gripped the other, "Assures me that this is a flood and that I cannot ask you to do anything. How the devil did you get in here in the first place?" "You let us in." Snape was purring, purring, "The pretext of friendship and casual conversation would be enough to let down any man's guard who has-" The hand was on his thigh again designs on your fidelity." The Marquis digested that, "Well I could see how that might have happened and then Did you say Us?" The door opened. The sands of Ghana had formed and shaped over centuries to produce physical form-some said for all men some said for a few-but that particular few were bold and carved and sculpted from dark chocolate marvel. "...Now I know this is a flood." "What makes you say that." "Knowing you. As I do." The Marquis sat up a bit, "And knowing the both of you in your matrimony. It is a heavenly-" Martha had moved to sit on the bed with both of her breasts uncovered, "State that should be sanctified." "You of all people talking about sanctity?" "Me of all people trying to repair a friendship. There is always a chance you might hex off certain parts I have come to absolutely depend on in addition to that-Severus. Please remove your hand from my nether regions." "...Severeus that is not an excuse to pass off such duties to her." "The Marquis de Sade trying to salvage a friendship? refusing, the temptation that lies before him." Martha lay on her back and all of heaven was in her curves, "And all we want, is to talk." "No, I have this feeling that you have far more designs on me then talking." The Marquis bunched the bedclothes around him, "I do feel that I'm in the wrong here as the only one unaffected-in what is clearly a flood that-" "Were it any man." Snape straddled him in one fluid motion, "It would be you. Out of respect." "You realize that the notion that someone doesn't want a switft, hard, raunchy fuck is a huge turn on for me right?" "...Except I'll be that someone is usually your husband." "Hardly." Snape kept him pinned and began to caress his neck, "...Martha and I have a very healthy sex life." "Healthier then I had ever apparently pictured given that the two of you have designs-really! Doctor Snape-Jones, I must insist that you respect my desires at once!" Martha had taken that opportunity to burrow under the blankets. She emerged with an expression similar to the cat in cream. "Oh bullocks." In one smooth motion, the Marquis squirmed away from Snape and tried unsuccessfully to dodge Martha's groping. "That's it there. Run!" "Look at that tight butt." "You two are going to thank me tomorrow." The Marquis called out from his bathroom, "When you wake up from this nonsense and were not molested in any way!" "...you! Afraid of molestation?" "Afraid of ruining....a friendship." He locked the door from the inside and tossed the key down the sink drain. ----------- The flood ended after two days of drunken sounding network posts. The dining hall remained eerie and silent and the few people who weren't infected smiled broadly at all concerned who had. The Marquis saw none of this. Summoning up his courage, he finally made a network request. Red faced, he boasted about his bravado to all concerned and noted that The snape Joneses were suspiciously quiet. After a day, he received a cordial knock to find Snape-in full wizard robes and Martha dressed as a matron-standing on his threshold. Martha thanked him and kissed his hands. Snape waited until the visit was over to look him sincerely in the eyes. "...During the flood-" A genial, grandfather smile, "Think nothing of it." "...I meant what I said." Snape said, "If It had to be a man I'm glad it was you." "...Because of my skills?" "Because." Snape leaned close and closed his eyes, planting the gentlest kisses on his brow, "...You're a good one."

[ed note: the end result of quite a few rounds of reading. Given how head-canon works, I'm doing several fic series with "parents". These are Hoffman's-or more or less the story of one of the other defining events in his life.] She wasn’t a cheerleader. She wasn’t putting out or waving an American flag or making cow-eyes at the soldiers coming back from the war. She wasn’t wearing bobby socks or a skirt or her hair in a cute pony tail. She wasn’t out at the school bonfire. She had her shoulder length hair down, and she was dancing. That would stay with him through everything. Right until the last moment of his life he would look at his children and see her dancing in the corner of the school quad where she thought no one would see. No records, just her twisting in the breeze. Hank Hoffman had come out for a football. The storage locker was broken in three different places. If you were careful you could filch balls and sticks. There was an unspoken rule among the thieves who did such things-whatever you took you put back. He wanted a football. That was all he wanted. Instead he got a pale wispy girl with shoulder length red hair and pale gray eyes twirling in the breeze in front of the shed. “Hey.” She stopped abruptly, “…Hey.” “Lonergan right?” Hank shifted his weight from foot to foot. Tracy Lonergan. He had her in biology and chemistry. Lonergan who moved in a completely different circle from him, they said that her parents were hippies-that her mom slept with GIRLS and BOYS- and that her dad was some kind of special ops agent. So far that was the only saving grace for Tracy Lonergan. Her father appeared at school functions as required wearing a military uniform and a severe expression while his daughter floated serene through the room. There was something about her that suggested flight. She continued to stare. Hank wondered if she was deaf (no, that was dumb he’d heard her speak.) then he wondered if she were dumb. “How come you’re not at the rally?” The whole school had turned out. There were heaps of ribs, mounds of hamburgers and beef. There were drinks, hot dogs and spiked punch and- “I needed some peace and quiet.” He’d been halfway to the shed when she finally spoke. “Why are you out here?” “…Football.” He pointed at the shed. “Oh.” “...you should…come back. There’s food. Hamburgers.” “I don’t eat meat.” She spoke so plainly and matter of fact he had to stare at her. Arms folded in front of her she was serious. “Well…have fun then.” She didn’t say another word as he walked off with his ball. At the rally he pinned Susan Grauman and they were hailed as future homecoming king and queen and all he could think about was a field and a small waif of a thing holding out her hands swaying to a tune only she could hear. ------ He met her again three weeks later. Love was fleeting and fast in high school and she was wearing a smart blue dress with curled red hair. “Hey, Lonergan.” She didn’t turn her head. “I hear you like girls Lonergan.” No response. What the fuck am I doing? “Is that true Lonergan? You like girls? Susie said you go behind the A&P with the check-out girl with the buzz cut and the dog nose-“ She slammed her locker, “Susie said you have a dick the size of a wet noodle and you can’t get it up when it really fucking counts.” He wondered if he hit a nerve. Then he wondered why he thought about her feelings instead of his. “Come back Lonergan.” “I have a name.” “Come back Tracy.” Hank paused, “…Please. I want to talk to you. I didn’t mean what I said about the A&P.” Susie had meant it and it was spreading around the school but there was quite a bit of time before anything happened. She stopped walking and looked back at him, ice cold and cool as you please. She could kill someone with a look like that. She looked like a murderer with that smile. Whatever fear was in him stopped cold when he realized she was smiling. He fell into step beside her and tried to ignore the way she’d looked at him like he was a meal about to be devoured. -------- “Do you, Hank Jefferson Hoffman take Tracy Gable Lonergan as your lawfully wedded wife?” I can’t think of any other thing I would love more then to dance with you on the field. “So do it.” She stood up and spread her arms beneath the sky, “ Dance with me.” Sweet sometimes and horrible others. He danced with her until the sun came up and when she fell into his arms he pulled out a ring and she was instantly demure. Like a cat sheathing it’s claws. From there everything had fallen into place. He learned the fragrance of her hair and the things that made her happy and sad. She told him truths about her (She did have a horse upstate, she went to ride her every other weekend. Her father wasn’t in special ops but he was in the military. She didn’t know what he did and had never thought to ask. Her mother left the house late in the afternoon but whatever she did was it so wrong?) He learned not to ask questions. Theirs was a relationship built like so many others on light fancy and the promise of better things. “To have and to hold in sickness and in health.” It was December 1965. His world was a small thing with dark red hair and pale gray eyes. “Til death do you part?” Mountains crumbled, ocean levels rose, the world grew a little darker, the light a little briefer. The world lost hours, things became harsher. A lion roared. “I do.” --------- Hank had a series of jobs that weren’t up to par with his father who sat in their apartment and let his wife tend to him while shouting insults and staring at him. Michael Hoffman liked to stare. That was worse then the yelling. As he grew older he just stared and nothing was good enough for him. He had been a marine and then a building handyman and didn’t like his son working for the government. He felt cheated and didn’t salute at the flag which was fine because Hank had gotten out of the habit of it. He longed for the simplicity of Tracy’s home. Tracy never complained, never said a harsh word, never said anything against him. She held his hand and sang him songs and cleaned him and Hank grew to despise the gray ghost who slept in a room across from theirs and hacked up bones and gray dust in his sleep. Their news had been secret. Tracy whispered it to him one early morning tangled in sheets. Michael Hoffman had watched her belly grow with a bored expression. She bought baby things, toys covered with stuffed lions (she liked lions, she couldn’t say why) until one day in September. “Your wife’s fat.” “I’m not fat Mr. Hoffman.” Tracy’s tone was polite and concise and to the point, “I’m pregnant.” “…You’re still fat.” “Be quiet Dad.” “What? Don’t you tell me to be quiet! I fought in the war boy. I was your hero! And she’s fat.” All of his life, this hero had berated him. All his life this hero had yelled at him and spanked him and said things and Hank Hoffman had said very firmly in his mind That will not be me. That will not be my child. But the world was a little darker and the days were a little shorter and Michael did more harm then good in the world. Rising to his feet, Hank crossed the room and hit his father in the face. The old man stayed silent. Later in their room, Tracy was holding their child close to her and he put a hand on her shoulder. His hair fell into his eyes and she was looking out at the crowded streets. “That’s not me.” She didn’t say a word. She shivered under the weight of him and he wrapped an arm around her chest, “That’s not me, that’s not me…” To his shame, he began to cry, “That’s not me. That’s not me. That’s not me…” It is times like these that women are stronger then men. When the world roars and they roar back, it is a woman who can look it in the face and smile just as Tracy smiled now. “I know.” All of the faith in the world was in her voice. “I know.” She began to sing a wordless song. She held his head in what was left of her lap as he listened to their child move within her always smiling that killer smile. ------ “Push. One more now Mrs. Hoffman. One more push and he’ll be there.” Hank had watched Tracy like a hawk. She hadn’t closed her eyes once during the pregnancy. She stared straight ahead and groaned and wept and screamed and cursed god for the “sins of eve” and other things he didn’t really follow. He held her hand and watched the doctor kneel and when he rose again and she called him every awful name under the sun there was a small wrinkly thing in the doctor’s arms wailing with all it’s might. “It’s a boy.” Hank watched them pass his son (his son! His son!) over to his wife, “Nice healthy baby. He’s got one hell of a set of lungs.” Hank wrapped an arm around his wife and kissed her sweat-stained hair looking at his son. The boy had his eyes (blue eyes, bright blue eyes) and an angry expression, disgruntled about being removed from his womb. “He’s got your nose.” “Poor guy.” He tweaked the baby’s nose. It chuffed, “He has your…” “He seems, to be mostly you.” Tracy was smiling and holding her son against her breast, “Hair, eyes, nose…” “Maybe he’ll have your personality.” Hank wouldn’t live long enough to learn that his son inherited his wife’s killer smile.

"I say unto you: one must still have chaos in oneself to be able to give birth to a dancing star. I say unto you: you still have chaos in yourselves. They were outnumbered six to one and he prepared to die. It wasn't a grim thought. Death was death and if you died honorably (as they were about to do) then the world was made right. There was no shame in this kind of death at all. Dylan was shouting commands. "What'd you call these guys again?" "What guys?" More gunfire. Rhade picked the enemy out at random-it had-it was once a woman maybe with spikes in her ears and her nose and her throat and she was still screaming curses and obscenities. She'd been mutilated all thought and space and time. "Aiya! Huaile-Mal, we have a serious problem. They're multiplying." "What the hell are they?" Beka picked out one, two, three, "They're-" "Magog." He found his voice, "...Magog-some kind of horrible." "This is no way of life for them." Halfway through their trip through the station they'd found five. There was magic in the number seven amid the angry boxes and the tossed apart world they needed magic. Rhade lifted his own gun and slid in beside her, "What?" "This is no way of life. They're not born. They're made." She stared at him and the world stopped, "Not everyone likes them. They're boo-tai jung-tzahng-duh-" "River!" Their captain- (He and Dylan had been saying things the whole trip.) "Might be you could do something?" "Something." Dylan leaned back and shot another look at Rhade and then looked to the girl, "...No, no no-Rhade-" He rose, "Rhade-get up here and-" A blast echoed throughout the ship and Dylan was down. His heart jumped into his throat and the girl was on her feet. She looked at him and smiled. "Simon!" Malcolm Reynolds was by his counterpart's side, "Simon, we need your bag and River-I hate to ask you this..." River didn't look to him. Her eyes were only for the second in command of the Andromeda staring blankly. One second, one heartbeat. "You know why I'm really dangerous." Her tone was very matter of fact and she turn and spun out toward the dance floor. ---- It was a dance floor. A dance like nothing he had ever seen. There were prides that bred for speed, prides that bred for beauty but nothing, nothing like this. He thought he heard music. Then he realized, there was music playing, Harper's voice was sharp, "Harper." Dylan was watching, "Shut. up." The music made it surreal. One kick, one punch, the ground shook and the girl was on her feet and twisting and dancing. Life is a dance. Death is leaving the dance, taking a step aside into something else. The heart of all things is movement. "She's-" "She's a dancer." The Doctor had Dylan's short down to the navel and was bandaging him up, "She was always a dancer." "She's-" "Quiet." Beka was the one hushing them now, "I want to watch." The girl's movements ebbed and flowed to the music. She took her cue from Harper's dumb move and twisted and spun and raised her hands. This was no dance, this was the world flowing through the room-pitching and rolling like a- "River!" River bowed and everyone with a gun (Rhade found himself on his feet) stood up and fired, in the hollowed ship their shots sounded like applause. ------- "...What did she ask you?" Dylan was limping, back onto their ship with the crew of the Serenity in tow, "The girl." "She didn't ask me anything." He lowered his head, "She said-" "...Nothing should be able to give life and take it away. If it does it deserves, no requires respect." The two men looked up sharply to the small figure slim against the stars, "But I just dance." "I think you understand that better then most people. To truly become das ubermensch or das uberenfrau. Man must have chaos within themselves to give birth to a dancing star." Dylan felt like he was missing something very very important, "...And you're..." "I'm the dancing star." Rhade opened his mouth to reply and she was gone like a shadow and a shade. The two men stared after her. "She was one hell of a dancer." "She was certainly something." For maximum impact listen to this song

He sent Dracula away days ago. He doubted that the man (man? vampire?) had bought it but he wanted to be alone and the easiest way to insure that was to do what Amanda said. Drive everybody away. That was the easiest thing to do. Drive everybody away and accept that they were right and he was wrong and that he had always been wrong. He wasn't a hero. Heroes didn't kill children. He wasn't a good vampire either. So much for power. He wasn't even a good serial killer. Had he been a good killer he wouldn't feel so bad about any of this. He could fantasize about it like he had with Amanda but he didn't want to anymore. You have a lot to answer for. After everything people had said and told him he'd gone ahead and lost control. In a moment when he should have been strong or offered his services to help catch the person who had hurt his warden he had lost his mind and gone off on a goddamn rampage. Sitting alone with his thoughts, he wondered exactly when he lost his soul. Then he wondered when he'd become one of the half-cocked old timers who'd lose their shit over a case. He embarrassed himself, embarrassed his warden, and hurt someone he'd been trying to manipulate. Someone he'd cared about. The kid would probably hate him. He'd tried to believe in him despite everything. One person, one single goddamn person and he'd destroyed months and months of relationships and friends and plans and a sense of freedom... You would think you would be tired of cells by now. Hoffman set aside his drawing materials. Months. Months and now this. His sister stood there with her hands behind her slim and white and beautiful and a sad sad look on her face. "Not you." He shoved his work away, "Christ-either you're real and there's-the worst most painful flood going on, or you're a figment of my imagination and I've slid backward, or I'm dreaming..." He didn't have time to finish as the apparition strode forward and wrapped her arms around him. She held him tightly for a moment-solid and real-before stepping back. "You're not answering me." By way of response, she drew her hand back and slapped him across the face. That felt real despite everything, "What the hell was that for?! I suppose I earned that according to you?" Earned it? No. No you didn't earn it you shithead. You stupid idiot. You moron. Killing kids? Breaking bones? Who are you and what did you do with my brother? "Angelina-" No don't Angelina me! His sister looked furious, You should be a warden on this stupid boat. You should be helping people find who hurt your friend, you should be doing the right thing... "I was trying to do the right thing! Blood for blood, that's how it works!" Blood for blood? Amanda Young for John Kramer, Seth Baxter for me for me? Who did you kill David for? "Stop it." Did he kill your friend? Who's going to be next? "Stop it!" He threw his drawings across the cell at the thing standing there shouting at him, denying him-and she broke down. You were supposed to dance at my wedding Mark. You remember that? You remember how you were supposed to dance at my wedding and how you put me up on that damn pedestal for everybody to see? "I had it all planned out." My brother planning my wedding. Did you ever once think about your own? He had no response to that. I am dead Mark. I'm dead. I got so angry at you for trying to control me. "You threw me out of your house." ...okay considering that you told me that I was going to fuck up my life? I think we're about even. she sat, Mark, it's okay to be scared. "...I'm not scared." ...yes you are. her voice took on a knowing tone, I know you might think that you're not, but you are. You've been scared for a long time big brother. What happened to me was awful. What happened to you...you did. "...I am not. scared." Have you ever relied on somebody else? Ever? Not to my knowledge. You had the job. That's it. And when things happened-and weren't you telling me shit happens? You lost it. "I'm not scared Angelina." So why are you sitting down here drawing pictures of all of your friends from up there and all of the places you've gone and all of the things you wanted to do? He frowned at her, "I..." Mark. I need you to do something. I need you to do something for me. For everyone you know. She crossed the room, I need you to do this, please, because otherwise there is absolutely nothing else I can do for you, or for anyone else. "What?" Plan your wedding. He withdrew from the apparition, from the specter, from the ghost, "You-" Plan your wedding. Sit down here until you can walk around again go up there and make food. Play games, do what the wardens tell you to do, help them if they need help, hold hands, sing-songs and then plan your wedding and go back and if you can't get it through your thick head that Sarah Harding is a person who matters just as much as you do and that Amanda is a person who matters just as much as you do then go back and get down on your knees and merry Alison Kerry. I always liked her. I like more. She doesn't drink nearly as much as Kerry did. And then when that really-nice-long suffering werewolf says that you're ready-and I know you will be ready-I want you to help someone else realize that things do move on and that people can change. His gaze was wet, his vision blurred, "...You're-" I'm dead! I'm dead. I need you to do, what I can't do. I don't need you to be a hero cop big brother, I just want you to do what you love to do and know that there's more to being a peace officer then catching the bad guys. To be a peace officer, you have to be at peace. "...Don't leave me." He ran across the cell and took her in his arms, "For godsake what am I going to do without you? Who's going to listen to me when everyone else has gone? Who's going to take care of me?" You-Mark-god-damnit don't be stupid. Don't be stupid. You. You need to take care of you and other people will want to be with you. You can do it... "No I can't. I can't. It's hard-" Promise me! Please Mark, promise me. Promise me that you stop and think about it. Promise me that you try. Promise me! Not for me. For you. Please. She clung to him crying. "Don't cry Angelina. Don't cry. I promise. Please, just don't cry anymore. I can't stand to see you cry. I never could. I'll try. I'll try hard. please please be happy for me..." You're crying too dumb ass. The ghost wiped her eyes and stood up, Big bad Mark, linebacker for the football team crying. I can't wait to tell everyone. "...Bitch." You promised. Her gaze turned gold, Remember you promised. You promised me you would try. No more games. No more anything else. I can't stand it. You be my brother now. You be my brother the police officer. "...I miss you so damn much." If you don't blow it we can see each other again. She tossed her head, elegant, a horse in the wind, That does not excuse you from anything I told you to do however. Remember, I took a child psychology course. "...at a community college...?" Mr. Four year university. I want to come back and I want you to be back at the NYPD okay? I want you to have people you can go to besides me. Even if you wanted to go out and be a vampire.... Wherever you go I'll go with you...as long as you don't fuck it up. He wants to say so much. He wants to tell her to stay, to say he's sorry, to justify his actions. Instead she hugs him one last time. "...It's going to be hard." You saved your partner's life-spending four hours wedged in with a bleeding man keeping him alive while keeping yourself alive. "I'm afraid." You faced down a guy on angel-dust and kept him talking long enough for someone to knock him out. "...I can't." ..You survived a murder attempt. The ghost moved forward and put a hand to his wounded cheek, John Kramer did a lot of things wrong, but the words can still mean something. "Cherish your life." Amanda was right about one thing. His sister sighed and raised an eyebrow in his direction You really don't know how to listen. ----

"Don't be afraid." That was what he said. Don't be afraid. He'd tried to kill her and yet told her not to be afraid. "Your life has just begun." ----- "No one remembers being born." He sat in the passenger seat with a hand on her shoulder, "In the far east they believe that an expectant mother must be carried over a bed of hot coals to insure a successful delivery. I have had no need to carry you. You have walked across the coals yourself. Now comes gestation, the most difficult part of any life. You must grow." She is shivering and all the can think is "It's so cold." but she doesn't show weakness. No weakness. This is her home now. You have walked across a bed of hot coals. Now comes gestation, growth, using the life you have. But oh she is so tired. It's cold and when she enters the plant for the first time she shivers. "It's the drugs." No it's not. "Yes. Of course." ----- There's arguing in another room and an angry man strides past her door without giving her a second thought. Snatches of words. Carless, and irresponsible, and What the hell do we need her for? And softer words that she can only guess belong to the man who saved her life. She is a infant, lost in her crib. Terrified, she pads out of her bed in her socks and closes the curtain John provided. "I never thought you, of all people could be so-" "So what Mark?" "She's a liability! You take more people, they will go to her first. They will ask her questions first. Jesus John, how the hell could you?!" "Everything we do is a liability. You yourself at any moment could turn me in. And then where would we be." She can't help but listen, shrouded in blankets and feigning sleep. She clutches the scratchy black fabric and pretends for a moment it is a death shroud. "...Shall I see you tomorrow?" The voice sounds subdued, sullen, "Do you need me or what?" "I will call you, if I need you." A shuffling sound as John's voice fades away. For a few seconds there's a pause and then a harsh clattering of objects They thud like heavy rain onto the floor and she covers her ears (everything is amplified-everything is LOUD). Something long and sharp rolls towards her. It's a knife. "Goodnight Amanda." It might be the drugs, it might be the unknown angry voice, it might be anything but the adrenaline is there and she's up with the knife in her hands-fuck this place. Her fingers closed around the weapon and she threw open the curtains and ran as fast as she could away. ---------- She's down the steps and onto an ancient loading dock where she cuts her feet on broken glass. scrambling across the concrete and onto the dirt She is full of plans as to how to get away. Hitchhike. Steal a car. You have carried yourself across a bed of hot coals. You will be successful. "I can drive you anywhere you want to go." She staggered-stricken. Heart roaring in her ears she turned around to find John Kramer, Jigsaw, her protector, her hero, in a simple sweater. She couldn't see his features in the dark. "There's no need to run off like that." "That man-" "Has his purpose. As you have yours. You can't return Amanda." He moved toward her and put her arm around her shoulder. In the distance the lights of the city gleamed like a blanket of stars, "It's beautiful isn't it?" She remained quiet. "Everything is sharper isn't it? Clearer, more fluid. The stars shine twice as brightly don't they?" She dutifully looked up and tried to suppress another shiver, "...It's big." "It's bigger then it was for you. It's brighter then it was. It's there for you to see, to help people experience. Breath Amanda." A cold win blew, she shivered. "Are you afraid? The wind can't hurt you. Nothing can hurt you. To survive you must make yourself unconquerable. No element can stand against man or woman. We build places to keep them out and return to them if the time is right." A light rain began to fall. She bunched up against him-and he pushed her away. Gently, one hand on her shoulder. Clad only in a thin shirt and a thin pair of pajama pants. Her body rebelled, her world was ice. "It's colder. It's sweeter. Do you taste the air? All of the scents, all of the things that we have forgotten are there for you now. We're coccooned from birth-but you have been reborn. The spartans used to expose their children to the elements to weed out the strong and the weak. The babies that lived were deemed fit to survive-to live a life worth living." "I'm cold." His hand tightened on her shoulder, "Breath. These are your elements. You survived prison. You survived being a drug addict. You survived my test. You are exposed now, but you have not cried and you are still here." Here was his hand on her shoulder. It was a lifeline, it was keeping her alive. The wind began to blow faster and the rain came down and the drums beat like thunder in tune with her heart. His hand was there. Slowly, tentatively, she drew in another breath. The wind rose electric. It spread through her nose, into her mind. Wet earth, dried leaves, the smoke from someone's fire. Mint and a hint of jasmine. She drew in another breath-intoxicated-hands reaching for the sky higher and higher. The rain poured down and she remembered something from a science class ages ago. All water evaporates and returns back to the clouds doesn't it? The water she was tasting could be coming from anywhere. It might have flowed down the himalayas, it might have run through the ocean. It could be thousands of years old. She spread her arms wide and let the cold bite her chest, her body, her face. The wind grew faster now and John's grip on her grew stronger as if she were a leaf that would blow away. Tears began to flow down her cheeks and she let them. Scents, sights, smells, the world was a blanket of activity and filled with stars. It was beautiful. "The Devil said, "All these things I will give to you if you worship me." When John Kramer spoke the thunder subsided. "I will not give them to you. You have earned them. You have earned this rightfully. Do you still wish to go?" She raised her own hand, looking out over the city and the stars. She was cold and wet and shivering but she had never been more sure of anything in her life. He was there. In the cold and the rain. He was there. "No." -------- "Did you know, that before a child is born in the far east a mother will visit a fortune teller?" She buried herself in blankets and lay back on the pillows. He spoke like the rain. It cleansed her, his words made her feel clean and fresh. She leaned back and suppressed another shiver. "The fortune teller shares the child's birth sign. All people are made up of the five elements. Earth, metal, wood, water, and fire. If an element is missing then that element is incorporated into the child's name to make sure she has it." "I think...no matter what happened to you, at the least someone tried to help you. However unintentionally." Amanda heard herself mumble something unintelligible. Bullshit., she reflected. Nobody gave a damn. "After all, they did give you the element you were missing. Your name. Amanda." She rolled over and stared at him. He put a hand on her forehead, "Fit to be loved." His hand slid to her shoulder where it rested-not high or low but in a place where it belonged, a place that had been waiting for it for years. My life has begun. She fell into a dreamless sleep. --------- He found her the next morning watching the sun rise. He knew the colors would burn brighter, the light would be harsher when it first came and gentle as the day progressed. She was watching it with rapt attention. "Are you cold?" She looked at him. "Would you like anything?" She continued to stare. "How do you feel?" When he approached closer he saw she was shivering ever so slightly. There were dark circles under her eyes but her expression was rapt, attentative. "Alive." The next day their real work began.

South Side Harlem: 5:30 "Tell it to me again officer. I want to make sure I got it all right. You say you were running..." "I was running." "You said that." The Detective in charge had a five o'clock shadow and a 12 o'clock gut, "Go back to the part about the perp." Mark Hoffman shot him an angry look and peered out over the warf. He pushed back a hank of wet hair before wrapping the blanket tightly around his shoulders, "My partner and I responded to shots fired." He forced his mind back over the events of the past hour, "...He stayed in the car while I ran out after the suspect." "Describe him." Every instinct in his body screamed. Black male, bald head with a long black tattoo across his body, no shirt. Black male, bald head with long black tattoo across his body, no shirt, black male-- "...Black?" The detective studied him, "Uh huh." Hoffman's expression turned hard. He had been running. He'd jumped behind a crate, and the perp had sprouted a tail. Instinct had taken over as the perp began to rummage in a nearby crate. "Freeze!" He'd never been so scared. What had been a guy who he'd sworn was 5'10 had turned into a guy who was now six two, big, built like one of the crates he was digging through, "I said F-F-Freeze-" The man did not freeze. Instead he roared and picked up the crate and threw it in his direction. The NYPD prepared you for a lot of things, except large monsters throwing crates. He had started to scream then. He pulled out his gun and had to jump to the side as a large black car roared around the edge of the warehouse. New York Plates, Classic build, he turned a shaky look on them as one of the men jumped out and shoved him to the side. Then the thing spoke. It's voice was horrible. The crashing of rocks and breaking of the world. He clamped his hands over his ears and peered out at the two men who were talking with it. "...I've lost it." He backed up against the wall, "One of the fucking gargoyles has escaped from Rockafeller center and this will make a great story to tell Angie. I can go back and tell it to her and I will go and have a pizza and a beer and I will laugh about this." The gargoyle continued to talk, one of the men was talking back-in english. "That guy did not just ask to see his driver's license. This is a joke. It's a TV show at any minute a camera's going to show up and I'm going to get reamed by my boss for walking into a movie set.." He wondered where his partner was and kicked at a small set of boxes. The noise must have been loud. The gargoyle turned and looked straight at him-at him. It roared and charged. No command, no words. He brought his gun up and fired with one long wordless scream. He saw the beast stumble-clutch at it's eye-and fall forward. "Jesus, he put out his eye. The kid put out his fucking eye." Adrenaline and fatigue and horror rolled into one punch. Two men wearing suits approached out of the corner of his vision and he passed out. "Black." "Okay Rookie? You're going to have to give me something else besides "Black." "Detective Bousman, DOS is here with a diver team." Hoffman glared at a smug uniform. She had her dirty blond hair in a lanky pony tail and a high and mighty expression on her face. "I'll be right there Ramirez." He nodded mutely to her and she flounced away. Probably sleeping together. Two sleek black sanitation trucks had pulled up out of nowhere. "He's coming around." "We need to act fast before more of his coworkers show up. Make sure he remembers nothing. I have to draft an apology to the Santauran High command about why one of their princes will need eye surgery." "Maybe he shouldn't have been smuggling drugs." "We don't judge visiting royalty. It'll be up to them to prosecute him. Make sure. He remembers. Nothing." Hoffman sat straight up and rolled over trying to grab for a weapon that wasn't there, "Who-what-" "Relax. FBI." The older man nodded, "I take it you saw the terrorist?" "...Terrorist?" "That's right. You walked in on a sting partner. Despite him getting away we'll be sure to notify your precinct. We've got him in custody now, but we want to make sure that there was no ill effects from what he was passing out on the dock. What's your name?" "Officer Mark Hoffman." The other man continued talking, "Badge number?" "2381-Terrorist?" "That's right. We'll be briefing you all later on the circumstances." "My partner-" "He's fine." The older man removed something long and cylinder shaped, "You collared a terrorist son, now if you could just look here-" "A terrorist that looked like some kind of dinosaur? That sounded like something out of-of-one of those Disney movies? What kind of a terrorist is that? What the hell are we fucking up against?" "A new breed of terrorists." "If that was a guy I'll eat my fucking hat asshole. That was not a fucking human being, that was some kind of-of-" "Terrorist. Sauntauran terrorist specifically. It looks like he was smuggling rocket fuel. This could be a serious problem-if Earth's involved in smuggling illegal fuel...shit you thought our crisis was bad." "...Earth that was-that was-" "Look at this." And then a flash of light. "Shit these guys aren't divers. Are these feds?" Bousman hitched up his pants and shot Hoffman an angry look, "You better not be trying to fuck us over shitburg. stay." Mark Hoffman swore, swore, up and down, that he knew those two guys. That those suits looked familiar, that those trucks were important somehow but for the life of him he couldn't figure out why. "You're imagining things." Then they were approaching. Blank faces and eyes. Gargoyles. "Would you have a look at this please?" A flash of light. "Black." "What'd you say?" "I said, there's a black car that's been following us for two block-oh wait there it goes." "Good." his trainer belched and bit into his burger, "Let me tell you reason twenty six why warf duty, is terrible duty. You can't see shit out here, all the lights are so old you just get brief flashes and long trails of black."

When he was 17 years old he fucked Casey Novak. Her parents weren't home and they had been trying to focus on algebra. Algebra was not nearly as interesting as her purple top however, or the fact that she wore the same pair of white shoes, or the fact that despite being a little overweight she had an amazing rack. She cried when he broke her hymen (he looked that up. Poor girls, jesus christ that had to hurt. All he did was feel weird for awhile afterwards) The two groped like broken monkeys for awhile and when they were done she started to cry out of sheer emotion. He ended up with a bloody nose. He never figured that out. Sex wasn't something he thought about. Angelina was gentle and sweet and needed to be protected but he never felt the need. She'd get married and have children. He didn't need it There was something wrong with that. He figured he should see something beyond sexual need. These were beautiful women with personalities who professed love. Those dried up quickly and he didn't care. He tapped his fingers on his desk and didn't care. He fired his gun at the range and didn't care. He ran around in cricles, went to movies, ate and drank more then usual and didn't care. He beat the shit out of a punching bag and didn't care. Kerry was different. She was just as cavalier about their situation as he was. A few whispered words and a quiet sentence. Lingering glances. He had seen the way she looked at other guys. It wasn't hard to see that she was sleeping her way through the ranks. At the Christmas party she put a hand on his chest and leaned against him feigning illness ("I think I have had far, far too much to drink Lieutenant.") and the next morning they ended up in bed together. She smelled like lilac and coffee. It was all business. They went out for coffee and it was all business. They bet on Knicks games and it was all business. They went to the range and it was all business. At one point, after a particularly long evening He woke up to find her nestled against him and Law and Order: SVU on the tv. The scene was horribly domestic and he didn't care. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and they sat there til dawn and he didn't care. After that she told him it wasn't going to work. She'd been transferred to homicide and gotten what she wanted she said. It was all business. She was looking away when she said it, one delicate finger swirling soda into the tabletop. He'd nodded and shrugged it off and she'd looked hurt for a moment before she nodded once and left shortly after. He ordered a whole bottle of Jack Daniels whiskey and nursed it all evening thinking of the smell of lilac and coffee, "It's just business", and how he had involuntarily responded to her advances. He remembered a night where they had a single domestic moment. He drank the whole fucking bottle in one long swig and staggered out to his car and didn't fucking care. She was dying, blood across his hands and at one point he felt something hard and thought it might have been his cock but it was her spine. He thought about all the women in his life and Perez gave up her dying breath and he didn't fucking care. He was gone and he didn't fucking care.

"Mr. Hoffman?" Late. He'd lost track of time and ended his shift before running to the hospital despite assurances that people would cover for him. You have to be pretty fucked up to get the guy who you're paying to deliver your kid pissed... Another bought of shame, "Yeah?" "Your wife's ready for you." Kerry lay pale and shaky and alone in her bed with her baby in her arms. She had an awkward expression on her face, halfway between in love and afraid. She threw a glare at him when he approached, arms tightening around on the child. "You two can smile." The doctor said with a grin, "It's a baby, not a goddamn bomb." "Get the fuck out." They had just learned how to be comfortable with each other, those intimate gestures that couples were supposed to be good at. Another dimension had been thrown into their world. A dimension that was small and soft and moving like a worm against his wife's breast. "Did you call my parents?" "No. I don't want your dad to beat the hell out of me and make off with you and my..." "daughter." Daughter. "...Angelina?" Kerry shot him a look filled with venom. He took a step back and put a hand on the desk, "Kerry-" "Her name is Hayley." "We specifically agreed that if it were a boy we would name him Alexander, and if it were a girl-" "Yeah well if you want a say in what we name our child you can be here on time." She raised a hand to stroke the girl's hair, "Quibbling about her name." She began to stroke the baby's hair and Hoffman swallowed hard. The world was a ball of nerves and the new dimension, entirely new territory, was staring at him. "Where'd you get Hayley from?" "The nurse." The baby stirred, "You haven't asked to hold her." "I'm a little absorbed in thinking of outfits...and cars...and boys and school appointments and colleges and weddings..." Kerry smiled at him, "Yeah well maybe she'll lucky and she won't end up marrying her boss and or coworker." "...That was a joke Hoffman." "...Can I hold her?" Kerry hesitated. She passed the baby over. Human beings are instinctively taught how to cradle new life. The creature twisted in his arms and let out a strangled cry of dismay. He tried murmuring all the words he knew to make the creature seem real. Nothing. Something was very wrong. Very, very wrong. When his daughter began to wail he passed her back to Kerry and hung in the background of the happy family as Kerry's mother and father held her and the girl-his daughter-laughed and chuckled. He passed out in a chair and wasn't given a second thought.

He arrested a man that morning. He had put two sets of handcuffs on him and escorted him to a squad car while a bright blond detective preened and strutted while her partner rolled his eyes. His hands were full of metal rings. Rings. He hadn’t spoken to Kerry since they argued about which one of them would be leaving the department to handle their soon-to-be-arriving child. They had compromised with him leaving SWAT and he had the paperwork on his desk but his mind was thinking twelve o’clock and rings. It was cliche. Terrible and cliche. He saw them everywhere; the detective’s earrings, the wheels of cars, the overcast day and the eventual rain all pounding circles into the pavement and puddles that they made. Rings and twelve o’clock. His watch beeped. He caught Eric on the way out of the precinct and he grinned and toasted their endeavor with an imaginary glass. When he made his way to his car, he spotted Rigg with a cup of coffee. The other man smiled and Hoffman slunk away. The foam on Rigg’s coffee left a ring around his mouth. ———— She wore green and red. Shoulder length curly red hair and a thick black jacket. She must have seen something in his face or his expression that made her step back. Instead she nodded once and the two of them took the steps into the courthouse. More rings. Circles. The clock ticked as they signed in and stripped out of their coats. This was wrong. Different kind of handcuffs. He hated weddings. It wasn’t supposed to be him standing here sweaty and staring. All of this felt wrong. Kerry, to her credit, didn’t try to look at him again. Her hands stayed clasped in front of her. What should have been a joyous day filled with the laughter of friends and family was a harried affair. They were too old to be doing this, too smart, this wasn’t a symbol of love, it was a death sentence. Bless o’ lord these rings, a symbol of the covenant between these two people… A bond. Locked forever into this jail sentence. She didn’t deserve this, she deserved someone young and handsome and he had hoped, prepared, to be the one who would be giving his sister away. He didn’t need to marry. When Kerry said her part of the vows he wanted to vomit. This was supposed to be a quick lay, a cheap fuck. Not forever. By the power vested in me by the state of New York City, I now pronounce Marcus Hoffman and Alison June Kerry man and wife. You may kiss the bride. He felt like a monster when he pulled away from the girl (she was just that, a girl). He swallowed it down and she shot him a knowing look. They left the courthouse altered. Unlike the rest of those sentenced, they were the only ones who left the building in chains. ——————— “You look like you just drank toilet water.” Rigg’s expression was gentle, “She’s not that ugly is she?” Far from it. Alison Kerry wasn’t attractive or conventionally pretty but she had something that drew people to her. Right now it seemed to be a feigned excitement as she showed their white gold rings around the precinct. “How many people know I knocked her up?” “Hoffman…” “How many?” “None. What they do know, is that you have been going out for a year or so and nobody is going to fucking ask. We’ve got your back man. Why do you have this look on your face like you just got the goddamn chair?” Rigg was married. Hoffman opened his mouth to try and explain and closed it again. The other man looked out the window, watching Kerry leave the room. He shook his head, “Hoffman. Whatever the circumstances, yours or hers there’s nothing to be done. Divorce is fine after awhile, but…you did the honorable thing man. You did the right goddamn thing and you right now? Are my hero.” “You always say that.” “Yeah. You get shot at on a regular basis, charge into places without a second thought, But it takes a real set of balls to put handcuffs on yourself.” He pointed at the ring, “…However…you’ve seen some of the humps we get. Some guys like being in jail.” Hoffman laughed at that. “And that chick? hoooo sign me up for life.” “That’s my wife.” Hoffman said sharply, “Hold on now.” “And you’re stuck with her.” Rigg said, “Remember that.” ———————————————- Home was a small one story house in Queens. It had a room for a study slash guest room and a small room furnished with baby items and the room where they slept side by side like toys. It depressed him. Neither of them had enough personal items to make the place feel cozy yet. Ironically the only good place was in the baby’s room because each in their own way had worked to make it feel like a comfortable place. The irony of being a screwed up human being. Whatever your faults or jealousies, you never wanted to pass them on to a completely innocent third party. He expected to find Kerry in there. He found her out in the living room instead, listlessly watching television and nursing a salad. You’re stuck with her. She had been resting her hand on her knee. He took it carefully and ran his fingers across her wrist. He began to work out the kinks and knots in her hand. He gently moved his fingers over each knuckle. His movement stopped right on her wedding ring and her fingers closed on his. They held each other for a moment. “I was nervous too.” She drew his hand into her lap, “I knew we should have gotten more expensive rings.”

That stuffed animal has it’s own damn backstory. Given that Amanda had to grab Lynn at the hospital Hoffman grabbed Jeff and Corbett. He didn’t even really notice that he’d grabbed it or that it was incriminating to him but he grabbed it and she had it with her. Looking back he would have berated himself or cursed his stupidity. He was not a stupid guy, I think in moments of power he got clumsy and careless. Why a doll though? They could have let the kid rot. Did John tell him to do it? I say he might have insisted that the girl be made comfortable but a toy? I mean you know, that kid cared about her toys and her brother’s toys were all being used so he had to have gathered them all up. Which one? Just grab one and run? No, you want the one the kid’s going to be the most attached to because that’s the one that’s the easiest to find. You had to know where somebody kept their most cherished toys, and the badger was one that her dad had got for her and she slept with it pretty regularly. They went on a trip to Colorado to visit her grandmother and she walked out of the store with it in her arms so her father threw a fit and went back and bought it. She named it Teddy and it was “King” of all her stuffed animals and he lived with Mr. Bear and Mr. Lion and Mr. Goldfish and when her brother died she went to school with him in her back pack for months and months until her father told her to stop. He tried to hit her but her mother hit him and she stole into her brother’s room and took Percy Pig and he and Teddy were friends right until Hoffman grabbed Percy. He would have known-like all adults-where kids keep their favorite toys because when he was a kid he’d had Kingsley. When you’re in a major traumatic situation people like to give you presents. The week after his mother died the social worker assigned to the Hoffman children gave Mark Hoffman him. He was old and battered and had belonged to a couple of other kids, but he refused to give him back. So he sat with him through the writing assignments and the therapy and the crayons. Then, when he went home Kingsley came home with him. He liked GI Joe and other past times, but Kingsley was always there and the string of baby sitters, foster parents, and social workers learned not to question it. Right until he was about 12, the dinosaur sat in the exact same place. Next to one of the usually tossed around pillows (he was a bad sleeper) and rolled off during the course of the evening where it would lie on the carpet. When he was younger he would pick the dinosaur back up and tuck it in before running off for his day-to-day errands. As he got older he’d casually toss the creature back on the bed, and when he was 13 it went into the box his then-foster-father suggested he make of all of his childish “toys” because he was a man and boys didn’t keep things like that. When he was in his twenties, his sister volunteered to store all of his possessions at her apartment while he was at the academy. He slept over to get the maximum amount of training. So he teased her about the lions and the bears and all of the other things common to girls and she had calmly pulled the very battered dinosaur from his unruly and cluttered pile of things and handed it back to him. When she asked him if he wanted to toss it, he shrugged it off. When she tossed the creature in the trash can however, he grabbed one of her numerous creatures and threatened to drop it out the window. The two played Mexican Standoff for a moment before she hauled out Kingsley and he brought in Barrington Parks (the official bear of the Barrington Arms). When she asked him if he wanted to donate those toys however, he nodded. Of course she could. That wouldn’t be a problem at all. After making her funeral arrangements he was forced to go through her things. He enlisted two of her colleagues to help him. They went through her clothes and jewelry and brought pieces to him for inspection. He kept her favorite ladybug necklace and her cross on a chain out of sentimental value. The rest went into a box to be sold to donate to the school and the PS 118 Hawks and the Volleyball Team she coached. There were boxes and boxes of photos that he spent hours sorting through, but toward the end of the day Lucy brought him a very battered box she had found stuffed in the back of the closet. In the box a few items. Some pieces of baby clothing. (That had perplexed him to no end. The thought she was saving it for her own children was pushed far out of his mind by rationality and common sense. If he went down that road he would eat his gun.) A few books (Catcher in the Rye, Mr. Toad, some Stephen King.) there were a couple of childish drawings of a girl riding a bright pink horse wearing a crown that made him grin. Down at the very bottom of the box was a picture of a monkey and something that looked like a little girl, then a plastic “safety officer” badge that had seen more use then his own official one. And Kingsley. He still has Kingsley. Not for the dinosaur itself but for what it represents. Not what it represents to him and the time he spent with it, but because his sister cared enough about him to want to keep the creature. That someone thought ahead enough to think about him. That toy kept him going, that one little mutilated stuffed thing leaking from more holes then one. On the really bad nights when between John and Jigsaw he didn’t want to sleep or think? Kingsley was there. He kept it on his bedside table and it would always be on the floor the next morning. When he left behind his house and sold his possessions, the dinosaur went out on the curb for some other kid to find it and he didn’t give it a second thought.