Hell-Bound

Which is why she was shocked to see the face in front of her.  She was someone who, once upon a time, Dilan wouldn’t have even blinked at seeing her at a ‘family’ event.  Because that is what she had considered her, Aliye had always been more than a friend, she had been a sister.  Seeing her face, Dilan was struck with several emotions at high speed.  She was worried, she wanted to rush over and hug the woman, relieved to see she was safe.  She was angry, she wanted to shake her silly, she wanted to storm away. – Aliye had been the only person she knew in America, and when she cut Dilan off and stopped responding, Dilan had went from being worried to being angry and everything in between.  

There'd been a hope or maybe even a prayer that they'd cross each other's paths again but she hadn't known what to expect. Anger would have been understandable but the indifference she received stung. Maybe she deserved it. For seemingly choosing a man over the woman who was the love of her life in every other sense but romantic. Eyes cast down for a moment, unsure where to go next, instinct to keep quiet tying her tongue before she forced it to speak their native language. "I don't know." Honest rather than avoidant, the words more of a soft confession than her trying to absolve herself of any blame. It wasn't as though she could truly blame Dilan from wanting to distance herself, especially with what she knew now, so she held herself firmly responsible for creating the situation in which her oldest and closest friend felt like she had no choice to leave her. "You stopped calling." Soft confession, the kind of lingering hurt that hadn't had chance to heal clear in her tone. There'd been no moving on from the void that the other woman had left, the space where she'd usually be felt keenly enough that the wound could never get close to scarring.

Gaze was cast around, wondering if their conversation was drawing the wrong kind of attention but she didn't feel Shannon's watchful eyes on her so figured that she could continue. After a pause while she deliberated she let another admission slip free, if only because she couldn't bear the thought of not having said it if they never saw each other again. "I missed you."

Still, she couldn't help but smile when he clarified—Most of it’s keeping people out, actually. A flash of something warm stirred in her chest at that. It didn’t matter if he’d only meant it as a factual correction. He had answered her. That counted for something, didn’t it?

"Well," she said, slipping further into the room, her voice softer now, "you’ve clearly never seen a heist movie. First rule of hacking is saying something dramatic like 'I'm in,'" She mimed cracking a safe with an exaggerated twist of her wrists, then glanced at him to see if maybe—just maybe—she’d coaxed even the smallest hint of amusement from his face. "Although considering you're definitely not the nerdy sidekick, maybe we can come up with something better."

At his next words—I didn’t think we were due to go over your account yet this month?—she hesitated, one hand coming up to tug at the end of her sleeve. It would’ve been easy to make up an excuse about the clinic or a new payment. But something about the way he said it, the way he looked at her—curious, not closed-off—made her pause.

"No," she admitted with a small shrug. "Nothing’s wrong at the clinic. For once." Her eyes drifted to the nearest monitor, watching the flickering lines of code, the grainy camera feeds. “Everything’s working exactly how you set it up.”

“I was just passing through and thought I’d bring food,” she continued, nodding vaguely toward the door. “And maybe see if you wanted some before the guys inhaled it all like rabid wolves.”

She didn’t mention how she’d lingered longer than necessary in the main room, hoping for a glimpse of him. Or how her heart had done that stupid thing when someone pointed her toward the Bat Cave. Or how it always did that thing around him, no matter how often she told herself to grow up. Instead, she stood there, still and awkward in the silence that followed, picking at the edge of her sleeve again.

“…You don’t have to,” she added quickly. “Eat, I mean. Or talk. Or…” She made a vague hand gesture, vaguely encompassing the general act of human interaction. “Just thought I’d offer.”

It was when the group was more than a handful that things got overwhelming, him retreating into himself rather than risking getting it wrong. Saying something that managed to spoil the mood or his directness indirectly making them feel bad about themselves. That was why he kept to himself at times like these, even though he'd make time for any of his brother's in a heartbeat.

But it didn't feel quite like that with Ayda. It somehow feeling easier if only because he'd never known her to be anything but unerringly kind. The kind of understanding that only came with endless compassion. Even though he wasn't sure he put her at the same kind of ease - he didn't miss the way that smile of hers faltered, privately kicking himself for managing to dim her warmth - but he hoped she knew he tried more with her out of some kind of appreciation for the way she was.

Smile flickered over his lips, brought about by her action. "Not many." Hardly felt like a confession when he thought it'd be obvious enough to guess. So he shared something a little more revealing, figuring that was how interactions were supposed to go when you found you did want to get to know someone. "The, uh, inaccuracies tend to pull my attention more than the plot." Maybe that was why he tended towards true fantasy when he did feel like watching a film, much easier to buy into something that would make him suspend his disbelief entirely.

With a nod he acknowledged that everything with the clinic was fine, the club's influence starting to kick in as protection. "Good, I'm glad." And he was, relief and satisfaction mingled into one that the system he'd set up was fit for purpose. Also just finding himself pleased that she didn't have anything to worry about that day, managing to take something off her plate even for a few moments.

"Y'know you don't have to feed us too." It wasn't part of their deal, after all, and in some ways he felt it was more than they all deserved. But he guessed that didn't really matter to her - whether they deserved her care or not - she was the kind of person it just poured out of and they were lucky to be around to catch some of it.

"I appreciate it, thanks." Words sincere when kindness wasn't something that had often been shown his way outside of the club. "Smells good enough to make them all forget their manners." Resisting the urge to share what he'd read on a brief dive into wolves and their eating habits, not knowing how comparing his brothers to them would land.

He stood, finally, grabbing his seat and moving it across the room towards the other loan chair. "Yeah, I should eat." And for her to stay, though he couldn't quite bring himself to say it aloud, hoping the acceptance of her invite would be well enough implied. "You okay if we eat it on our laps, just -" Head tilted towards his desk, the area that he always kept pristine.

She heard that wolf whistle and rolled her eyes, grinning like an idiot anyway. He always did that—acted like she’d hung the moon just by waking up in the same room. She never said it out loud, but sometimes when he looked at her like that, it made her want to cry a little. Just a soft, full kind of ache. Like she still couldn’t believe this life was hers. When he pulled her back against him, she melted into it without hesitation, her hands coming to rest on his as they cradled her belly. She let out a happy sigh, letting her head lean back slightly onto his shoulder. “Hey, I’m still hot,” she murmured, teasing, “I just come with a sidecar now.”

She let the quiet settle for a beat, heart beating steady under her ribs, her smile softening as her fingers drifted lightly over his where they rested against her skin. “You know,” she said quietly, “I think I’m always gonna miss riding with you. But it feels… nice, letting someone else be the wild one for a while.”

Her eyes flicked to the mirror, catching their reflection—her, glowing in a way she could finally admit to herself; him, just behind her, arms wrapped around her like a shield. It made her heart squeeze. Alma turned her head just enough to speak over her shoulder. “We make good people, you know?” She didn’t just mean Salem. Didn’t just mean the one on the way. She meant them, too—the weird, wild little family they’d made from nothing. From a stolen night and a motorcycle ride and a choice that had changed everything.

Then he'd met Alma and he'd wanted to enjoy her, only it hadn't been fleeting but instead the most lasting thing in his entire life. How his whole world had shrank to just her but kept growing with each of their children, filling his life with so much love he felt like he could burst. She was something to finally tie himself to. An anchor not in the way that she ever - could ever - drag him down but in the way that she held him steady and let him realise that there was benefit to being still too.

Grin only widened as she presented herself, gazing at her as if she'd not only hung the moon but it paled in comparison to her. But then his head snapped back as if she'd pulled him out of a trance. "Babe, if you think for a second I was saying you're not hot Imma need you to go get your ears cleaned out or something." Barrage of kisses was left over any trace of skin he could reach, words peppered in between, as arms held her tighter against him. "I think you gotta be magic or something because every day I get to wake up to you is a miracle. But I swear every morning I think you're hotter than the day before." No word of a lie when there hadn't been a day since they'd met that he hadn't thanked whatever deity or fate was out there for letting their paths cross.

"I'll miss you too. So much that I promise I won't do anything too wild without you." She was his favourite partner in crime after all. "The best people." And he was biased but that didn't mean he was wrong. He just thought it impossible that anyone who got the benefit of having his wife in their lives wouldn't be the better for it. So someone getting to have her as a mother was beyond blessed. Hands quickly spun her around, tucking her into his chest ( by far his favourite place to have her ) with a kiss pressed to the top of her head. "What you craving today? Want a little sidecar adventure to the grocery store?"

He closed his eyes. Sank into it. Just for a moment. Because her mouth was home and purgatory all at once. He pulled back a fraction—not enough to break contact, just enough to breathe. His forehead rested against hers, and his voice came out low, gravel-thick. "Yeah," he said, answering her question, even though he knew she probably didn’t expect him to. "Think I been soft when it comes to you for a long fuckin’ time." The words tasted like confession and punishment both.

He didn’t look at her, not yet. Just breathed her in. Let her hand stay on the back of his neck, fingers warm and familiar. It was the familiarity that hurt the most. The way his body knew hers like muscle memory. Like prayer. Like sin. His hand slipped from her waist to her hip, holding her there—not tight, but firm. Like if he let go, he might float off into the goddamn void. "You want me to stay?" he asked, quiet, unsure if he was asking her or asking himself. The question hung between them like smoke, curling, waiting. "Or you just don’t wanna be alone tonight?"

It wasn’t an accusation. Just a truth. He wasn’t sure which answer would hurt more. He kissed her again before she could respond—not rough, not needy, but reverent. Like she was a wound he was trying to kiss better, knowing full well it would never heal.

And then he said nothing. Just let the silence stretch between them while his thumb brushed slow, absent circles against her hip, grounding himself in the feel of her. Knowing that when he left—and he would—he’d carry the ghost of this moment like he always did. Another piece of her he didn’t deserve. Another piece he’d never stop taking anyway.

She could be cold, untouchable, and she knew that. Never truly wanting to change. But then she would get lost in Lev, in them. That heady mix of emotions that made everything else fade away, consumed by nothing but the two of them. Their past, their present, their future and all their could have beens. Usually pragmatic mind unable to form a single logic thought when all she wanted to do was fade into the version of herself that existed only with him.

And there it was - the crux of their whole relationship laid out. His voice barely breaking the silence but words still rang loud in her ears. "Yeah?" Almost buying herself time when it wasn't as though she could argue against it. So much of who they were no was because of the way they broke open for each other, vulnerable innards on display in a way that they never would or could be for someone else. "Me too." A show of solidarity, maybe, letting him know that he wasn't alone in his weakness.

The contact between them wasn't enough, feeling as though she needed to be pressed against him before anymore could spill out. Chest flush against his as lips met his reverent ones with neediness. It would have been selfish how much she pulled him back to her again and again if it wasn't also so self destructive. Breaking her own heart again and again by letting herself get a taste of what she could never truly have.

"I want you to stay." Defensiveness making her tone tight, offended that he'd even consider that this was about something other than him. "But not if you got some place else you'd rather be." A chance for him to free himself from their purgatory if he wanted to take it. But she knew she'd take limbo, take whatever they could scrape together, over nothing even if it meant chipping away parts of both of them to do it.

When he spoke—actually spoke—her brows lifted slightly. It still threw her off when he did that. She didn’t expect it, not because he was rude, but because her neighbor was the type of man who didn’t waste words. Her gaze flicked over his face as he looked up from the mail, then down to the bags cradled against her chest. That offer—quiet, casual, but sincere—made something tighten in her chest in a way she didn’t quite understand.

Most men offered help like it was currency, something they could cash in for your number or your time or a favor later on. But Bryce’s offer wasn’t transactional. It felt like... consideration. Just a simple kindness. She’d forgotten what that felt like. Still, her instinct was to deflect. To say she had it. She always had it.

But she didn’t lie to herself—her arms were burning a little, and the stairs were already laughing at her from the corner of her eye. So instead, she let out a soft breath, then nodded once. “Sure. If you don’t mind.” There was a flicker of a smile—not much, barely there—but something softened behind her eyes. Gratitude, maybe. Or just relief that for once, someone was walking beside her instead of bleeding in her backseat. "Might even be some kung pao chicken in it for you."

But it wasn't just the opinion of him he'd created for her in his mind that had made him expect some kind of deliberation. There'd been a certain level of interest sparked since he'd seen one of the Sons speaking to her, a rare protective spark kindled when what little he knew about her seemed to point to the fact she was too good to be wrapped up in that world. His world. The extra attention paid meant that he'd notice things. Seen the way that she seemed to take things upon herself. Noted the fact that she was always pouring for everyone else but no one ever seemed to fill her up.

Maybe that had made him offer. Not because he thought he was the kind of saviour she deserved ( not a hero at all, really ) but because he thought someone should. And in the seeming absence of anyone else he'd fill the void until someone inevitably better appeared. "I don't." Affirming that he'd meant it, though stopping short of pointing out that he wouldn't have offered if he hadn't, flickering smile returned as he took some of the bags from her arms.

Their spaces merged for a brief moment though he was careful not to intrude anymore than he had to, limbs only briefly brushing as he relieved her of as many bags as he could. "From which spot?" More to make conversation than because the answer would really have any impact. He had long since grown content with silence but he knew that other might not feel as comfortable trudging up several flights of stairs without a word said between them.

“Mmm,” he hummed, not able to give much more effort, despite his knowledge that it was a massive pet peeve of his sister’s.  He was listening, just perhaps not as actively as she would have liked, his mind half with her and half in his plans.  “If you’re going to shave it off I think you should go bright green beforehand,” he responded distractedly, thwarting her ‘you’re not listening to me’ tirade before it could get started.  Just because he wasn’t responding didn’t mean he wasn’t listening. “Just so you can say you did it, you know?” his eyes finally met hers, a nonplus smile on his face.

As much as she knew her brother was aware of her uses, she'd never pushed to be included in club business unless he thought it made sense. The less she knew the better, not because she shrank away from the life but because she knew her mouth could run away from her and despite how flippant she could seem, she would rather die than compromise him in anyway. So she didn't let the challenge weigh heavily, head shaking in disapproval at his suggestion. "And green? Really? With my complexion? Be so for real, AJ." Indignation in her tone as she took another sip of her drink. "Green." A scoff, then more muttering. "Supposed to be the smart one."

The Avalon Motel had the kind of charm that came from years of surviving rather than thriving. The neon sign flickered, buzzing like it was contemplating whether to give up for good, and the scent of stale coffee and cigarette smoke clung to the air like a second skin. Niko leaned against the counter, easy grin in place, arms folded like he had all the time in the world.

"Didn't peg you for the type to run a joint like this, Harlow," he drawled, letting his voice carry that lazy amusement he'd perfected. "Figured you'd be more… I don’t know, classy. Like silk sheets and overpriced wine, not busted ice machines and guests who pay by the hour."

His eyes lingered on her just a second too long—just enough to sell it, to let her think he was flirting, because maybe he was. Maybe that was the problem. It wasn’t supposed to be this easy to enjoy her company, to find excuses to be in her orbit. But here he was, toeing the line, telling himself it was all part of the job.

"Thought about me lately?" he asked, tapping his knuckles against the counter. "Or do I gotta cause some trouble to get your attention?"

The motel was somewhat of a passion project as well as her playing her part in her brother's empire but even it had been handed to her on a silver platter. She wasn't so much dissatisfied with her life as sometimes bored by it, a lack of challenge as well as being surrounded by the same people since birth was the reason she enjoyed chatting to her guests so much when they usually always had a story she hadn't heard. And there was on particular guest that had her particularly interested, even if she was still playing somewhat coy.

Glance was cast at him over her shoulder as she finished filing away paperwork, mischief glinting in blue eyes despite the faux innocence she channelled. "That your way of asking 'what's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this'?" She turned then, heading over to the counter she couldn't help but wish wasn't between them. "Same as anyone in this town, surviving. Just you wait one day there'll be silk sheets for everyone." Hand moving in front of her dramatically as if it was her dream, said with the same cadence as someone would talk about wanting their name in lights.

Teeth found her bottom lip for a moment, light hum leaving her as she considered his question. "Briefly but fondly. Special place in my heart for people who pay their bills on time and don't give me a headache." Eyes lingering before something else he said occurred to her. "Man, you telling me someone's messed with the ice machine again?" Pen pulled out to write herself a note to phone the repair guy, tut leaving her. "Just can't get the guests."

There was an urge to bury himself in the club, where he knew his place and knew what he could do to help and provide, and leave Roxy and TJ to their routines. But he knew that wasn't an urge he should follow, not if he wanted to keep what had served as a gleaming beacon that got him through his sentence. — So instead, he pushed through the awkwardness, through the discomfort at being so god damn useless.

Even so, he was still in that god damn doorway, lingering, one eye on TJ who was happily sat in front of Saturday morning cartoons, munching on dry cereal, and the other on Roxy. He didn't know how in the fuck he tricked that woman into marrying him, but he thanks God every day that she fell for it.

"Mmmmm" he hummed, a mischievous smile on his lips, purposefully betraying exactly of what he thought about her in that dress. "It'll definitely do—But you're going to make the other mom's jealous." He moved from the doorway to the edge of their bed, within reach of her. His fingers reached out to swish at the edges of her dress, making it swish like she had done only moments before. "Sounds like you might already have something in mind. Let me guess, bowling?"

Grin flashed easily over her features at his words, emotion bubbling up at the fact that he was even there to say them. "The kind of jealousy where they'd just die if they don't get to be my friend, right?" Tone was light but there was hope, maybe in vain, underlying it. She knew that people could judge and probably had already. Heard about Tighe's sentence or her job and decided that they weren't people worth getting to know. Usually she didn't mind it, shaking it off as their loss and refusing to feel badly about the small mindedness of others. But she didn't want her son to have any restrictions. No limits forced onto his life just because some people would view his parents with distaste.

The anxiety was quickly shook off, too intent on enjoying a little moment of levity with him to stay stuck in more worrisome thoughts. Gasp left her as though she was surprised that he'd managed to guess. Even if it was intentionally wrong, she couldn't help but think that there'd be far worse ways to spend the afternoon than enjoying a bowling date with him. "Always did know how to read my mind, I'm just itching for a strike." Laughter filling the space between them when it was never far from her lips, always quick to find the joy in whatever she could.

Gaze flickering towards the door just to make sure TJ wasn't about to insert himself into their conversation, half step closer to her husband taken once she'd established that the coast was clear. "And then after -" Eyes flickered down to his lips purposefully before they met his gaze once more, dark orbs doing little to conceal her desire for him. For closeness between them. "- you can help me out of this?" She posed it lightly, not wanting him to feel as though he had to just because it was what she wanted.

She stood, slow and deliberate, like she had all the time in the world to deal with this particular brand of bullshit. “You want your life back?” she echoed, dragging the words out like they tasted bad. “Well, shit, Cole. Why didn’t you say so sooner? We could’ve had balloons, maybe a cake. ‘Welcome home, sorry about all the bad blood.’”

She circled the desk, heels sharp against the floor, her stare pinning him in place. “You don’t get to waltz in here after a year off playing Lone Ranger and act like this is some dramatic reunion special. You fucked up. You left. And I didn’t get the luxury of checking out while I decided how guilty I felt.”

Her finger jabbed his chest, hard enough to make a point. “I had to look Svara in the face. I had to hear club business whispered like maybe I was the next to fall. You think you felt lost? Try being the one holding the whole damn bag and still expected to smile pretty while the world caught fire.”

She stepped back, arms crossed now, chin tilted just enough to look defiant instead of tired. “So yeah, I bet you do miss your life. It was a good one—had a job, a patch, and a wife who loved you stupid. But things change, Cole.” And then, softer, more bitter than broken: “You left a mess, and now you’re back with a mop and a damn prayer like that’s gonna fix it.”

She let the silence stretch, eyes fixed on his like she dared him to flinch. Then, with a shrug that was all bravado and none of the ease, she added “Well? You said you wanted to be better. Show me something.”

Finger jabbed at his chest and he didn't flinch, almost smirked though the expression was stifled when he doubted it would be productive at that moment in time. There'd be plenty of time for him to revel in all her glory after he'd convinced her to take him back. A certainty in his thoughts only because he didn't want to even begin imagining a world where the fractures his absence had created couldn't be patched up.

He waited for her to finish, knowing she wasn't about to run out of steam and there was no point in trying to talk over her. Nor did he ever want to, words even more precious now than they ever were after months of only hearing them through a phone. Silence stretched between them as he closed the distance that her retreat had left. Usually the move was instinctive, never wanting to be far from her, but this time it was purposeful. Steps slow and deliberate as if that would show her that he intended to stay.

"You think I wanted to leave?" Words low and to anyone else they might have sounded menacing, they probably would have been, devoid of the emotion that was only reserved for his wife. "My club, my life." Firmly in her space now, making it theirs as head dipped even closer, making sure she couldn't miss the passion that was burning in his eyes for once. Only for her. "You?" Saving the most devastating part of it all for last. But he needed to know that she knew he wouldn't have made that choice unless it was necessary.

"Let me make this right, Nels." Low tone containing a vow within them, what he would do whatever it took to salve and stitch the wounds that he'd left. "I know it's not gonna happen overnight and I don't expect it too. Hell, you wouldn't be the woman I'd married if you just rolled out the welcome wagon. You want me on my knees, I'll get on my fucking knees."

Fingertips coasted down the side of her arms, claiming her hands in his rough ones, head dipping lower so his forehead could rest against hers. "Let me come home." Because it was up to her but he felt like if he could just get that to happen, the rest would fall into place.

No one in the Knights would’ve ever greenlit that. No way in hell. Flesh trade was a hard fuckin’ line in the sand—the kind of line you bled over if you crossed it. And he'd bled a few who had, in the past. He’d seen what that kind of hell did to people. So then why the fuck had they sent him to silence her?

His jaw clenched, muscle twitching. The muzzle of the gun hovered just beneath her chin, still there—but it wasn’t pressing in anymore. He was looking at her now. Really looking. The fear in her hadn’t vanished, but there was heat behind it. Steel. Not the kind of fear that came from guilt, but the kind that came from surviving something you shouldn’t have. The kind that didn’t lie. Victims. Villains. She didn’t look like someone making up a story to save her own skin. Didn’t sound like it either.

Which meant someone had lied.

Shannon’s breath came in through his nose, slow and sharp, dragging over the back of his teeth like he needed to keep it from becoming a growl. This wasn’t a mistake you could walk back with an apology and a bouquet of fuckin’ flowers. Someone had tried to use him. Set him up as the reaper for a girl who’d already been dragged through hell. His gaze dropped for just a second, toward her bag under the bed. The one she’d offered him like some desperate out, like he was the worst she’d have to deal with that night. That sat wrong. Real wrong. The barrel of the gun dropped an inch. Still in his hand. Still between them. But it was no longer aimed at her.

He didn’t speak right away. He just looked at her—watching her face, watching the way she held herself, as if she'd dared herself to survive just one more moment. He could almost hear the voice of the brother who’d once told him: You can tell the truth by how it clings to a person. Doesn’t need proof. It shows in the shaking and the staying both. She was still here. That counted for something.

Finally, his voice came low. Gravel-slick and quiet. Almost like it wasn’t meant to be heard. “…who told you to meet them?” He didn’t ask what happened. Didn’t need to—not now. He already knew it was worse than what he’d been told, even if nothing more than what she had said happened. Worse than anyone should've let happen on club turf.

And someone was going to pay for that.

But then the gun moved away, just a fraction but enough that she felt like she could actually breath again, shaky exhale escaping her almost proving that. There was still threat lingering behind his tone but now she sensed it wasn't directed at her. Anger too, if she was reading a stranger correctly, and she wasn't certain if her earlier words hadn't touched a nerve. There'd been no tact in them, only an indignant fury that it was her bearing the repercussions when she had done nothing wrong.

She almost didn't hear him, voice so low she wasn't sure she'd just imagined it. Voice was thick when she finally responded, a correction to what he'd asked. "Nobody told me." Even if her grasp of the language was still clumsy at times she knew that to be a fact in whatever language she spoke it in. She hadn't been instructed as much as ambushed, coerced into complying, but there was a lingering feeling that she could have - should have - said no. Instead she hadn't said anything, going along with it because she hadn't known what else to do.

The righteous anger that had been fuelling her impassioned speech had left her as she spiralled for what felt like the hundredth time into that toxic cycle of blaming herself for not putting up any kind of fight, leaving her feeling flat and hollow once more. "I -" Lips parted then pressed together almost immediately, suddenly unsure of herself when the last thing she had been expecting was for the man with the gun pointed at her to care. Even if it was only in the capacity that he seemed to have been mislead.

Teeth sank into her lips, the sting of the contact used to pull herself back into the present before she lost herself in what ifs. She didn't know what to say but he had asked for a name, she could start there. The tears that pricked at her eyes weren't because of the man in front of her, the fear she felt towards him quickly replaced by the ache of betrayal that was still fresh. Her heart could only hold so much emotion and the pain that came with having to confess that it was the person she'd trusted the most who had put her in that situation, more than once, overwhelmed everything else. "Tevfik Olgun."

While she didn't know where to even begin talking about what had happened ( part of her worried that the man before her would echo her own thoughts that it was her own doing ) she thought some explanation of her connection to him might make things clearer. "He was my - " Everything. He'd made himself her world, the only person she had any real contact with. But even if she had been fluent in the language she wouldn't have known how to sum it up. "- we were together. Had been since before we came here."

Eyes left the gun-wielder's face then, the defiance she'd shown only moments earlier making way for something closer to defeat. Thoughts turned over in her mind, wondering if she dared to ask something that would undoubtedly put the final nail in the coffin that their dead relationship had been laid in. "Is he -" Resolve wavered but she summoned strength from somewhere, finding not for the first time that week that she had more than she had ever given herself credit for. Gaze flickered back up to the stranger, trying to convince herself she wasn't afraid of his answer. "Was he the one who told you about me?"

When the call came through—teacher sounding polite as you please, asking if she could 'pop in for a quick chat' about Aoife—Eilis had rolled her eyes so hard it gave her a headache. She wasn’t daft. She knew exactly what that meant. A chat, her arse. It was never a chat. It was you’re doing something wrong, your kid’s a handful, maybe if there was more structure at home. Like she didn’t already know the way Aoife was hurting. Like they weren’t both barely keeping it together.

She’d dressed like she gave a damn, anyway. Tight jeans, tank top under a leather jacket that smelled faintly of cigarettes and baby wipes. Acrylics freshly done because Niamh had finally slept long enough for her to get to her cousin’s place. Lipliner darker than her lipstick, hoops big enough to fit a soda can through. Let them look. Let them judge.

When the door opened and he smiled at her like they were old mates, something in her gut twisted. Too warm. Too easy. Too kind. It made her suspicious right away.

'Thanks so much for coming in' he said, holding the door open like a gentleman in one of those romance films her ma used to watch. He looked barely old enough to be out of school himself—young, tan skin, big brown eyes that probably got him out of all kinds of trouble.

“Yeah,” she said, stepping in. “Not like I had anything else to do.”

She didn’t take his hand right away. Just stared at it like it might bite, then gave it a quick shake—firm, not rude, but not friendly either. She nodded slowly at his introduction, taking the seat he pointed to. Perched at the edge, arms folded tight under her chest like she was holding herself back from bolting.

“I know who y’are,” she said. “Aoife talks about you. Says you smile too much.” That wasn’t meant to be an insult, but it came out sharper than she’d intended. Eilis wasn’t good at softening things. “Right. Lemme guess.” She leaned back, one brow arching high. “She mouthed off again. Didn’t follow directions. Probably got bored, did somethin’ she shouldn’t’ve. She’s not exactly subtle.” There was a flicker of something in her eyes then—guilt, maybe, or pride. It was hard to tell.

“Look, if yer gonna tell me she’s disruptive, go ahead and say it. Don’t need to sugar-coat it like I’m made of glass. I know my kid. I made her.” She sucked in a sharp breath through her nose and looked away for a second, just long enough to collect herself. When she turned back, her jaw was set. “She’s angry. Her da died, and no one explained it in a way that made any fuckin’ sense. Least of all me. And now she’s stuck in a classroom bein’ told to do sums and write essays like none of it matters.”

Her voice cracked just slightly, and she hated that. Hated it enough that the next words came out colder. “So unless you’ve called me in to tell me you’re a grief counselor or a fuckin’ magician, let’s skip the dance. What d’you want me to do, Mr. Persaud?”

That wasn't why he had called her in and he was quick to make that clear. There was some relief as she moved towards the two chairs he'd set up on the same side of his desk. Not wanting it to feel like he was a principal telling her off. "I was hoping this could be a discussion rather than me lecturing you about your daughter." In his experience it rarely worked. The best way to help a child was to have the parent onside and making them feel like they were somehow failing wasn't going to come close to achieving that.

Smile had flickered over his lips at her asserting that she knew who he was. "Oh." The word almost said out of confusion, wondering whether it had somehow become a negative to be seen as someone who smiled. He supposed it might have made him seem like he didn't take things seriously enough but then decided that there were worse things to be known as than someone warm or friendly.

But then she kept talking and he listened. Not pity in his gaze but sympathy when grief was hardly an easy thing to deal with. Only when he was certain she'd said all that she'd wanted to, words that already helped him get a bigger picture, did he respond. "I am sorry for your loss." The sincerity of the words were clear as he let them hang between them for a few moments, not wanting to seem as though he was ignoring her pain out of keenness to try to set things right. He wanted to help but charging in and trampling over her dignity wasn't the way forward.

"Has no one here talked to you about the resources we have on offer?" Brow furrowed, that confusion back again, but this time not at her and instead the notion that a grieving family could have been overlooked. He wasn't naïve enough to believe that the system was flawless but it could work, the idea that the full extent of what it could do to help for this family not being explored was one that didn't sit well with him.

"I'm, unfortunately, not a grief counsellor but we do have access to one through a scheme - if it was something you think would help I could get that process started for you. Or if you would prefer whole family sessions -" Because all of them had been affected by the loss. "- I have the number of a great therapist who owes me a favour. Could get you in as soon as possible." Not really a handout, more just a bump up the queue.

The offers made he didn't push it, already sensing that the woman in front of him was used to doing things for herself. "So, Aoife." Throat cleared slightly. "She is disruptive but I don't believe it's out of badness." There was no point in denying that but he was quick to follow up with what he thought was the true explanation. "I think that Aoife is gifted." The words hovered for a moment before he continued. "The work is too easy for her so she gets bored, it's not unusual for children with higher intellect to act that way."

"I wanted your input on how best to proceed with that." Reiterating once again that he wasn't about to tell her how best to help her own daughter. He intended for them to work together. "I could give her extra work in class but I'm hesitant to do something that might make her feel 'other' from her classmates at a time when she is likely already feeling that way."

But as he locked eyes with her he realized there was something of a chicken-or-the-egg situation taking place. Was she looking at him because she had clocked the weight of his protective gaze? Or had she already been looking? He couldn’t be sure. But he was fairly sure he hadn’t seen her here before, and maybe it was bold to assume, but he didn’t think it was much of her scene at all. At all the parties at the clubhouse that Ayda had attended, she hadn’t attended one, which he considered odd with how Ayda spoke about her sister, like they were often glued at the hip. So from that, he assumed she didn’t much approve of The Life. Dar por hecho, his mother would warn him, if she were here. 

And she’d be proven right, as he watched with curious eyes as—after what he could only call an intermittent stare-down—she stalked off. Even someone like Guillermo could sense her intentions. He followed, wondering if he was a cat about to be killed. The sudden quiet as he exited the bar was like a salve; his muscles loosened, shoulders dropped, brain stopped feeling as if it were on fire. But it still took him a moment to adjust, remember what he came out here for.

Her words were bold and he got the sense that was par for the course for the eldest Turhan sister. 

“That’s not my bike.” he said in response, arms folded, brow cocked and pushing his luck, knowing the response probably wouldn’t be welcome with what had just been offered.  But if he was going to take her home, she’d need to get on the right bike.

Eyes had glinted with possibility and a little bit of satisfaction when he'd saw him emerge, pleased she still had it. But she'd expected a more enthusiastic response than what he met her with. If cheeks hadn't already been slightly flushed from alcohol they might have coloured with something close to shame when he finally responded. A lack lustre response that was so far from what she had expected it almost made her reconsider as pride bristled under the comment. But luckily ( or unluckily ) for him her whisky fuelled desire easily won out over the brief smart of embarrassment that his words had caused. Far too set on the idea of making him her thrill for the night to consider changing her plans now.

Hands dropped from the handles, eyes fixed on him as though she was still considering whether or not he'd ruined whatever moment she'd been trying to create. Waiting a few heartbeats to build some kind of suspense. Long leg swung languidly over the bike so she could get off it, knowing that she looked good doing it. She'd had plenty of practise moving her body in the most eye catching ways at work. Unhurried steps closed the distance between them, undeniable sway in her hips as she walked, chin tilting upwards as she posed a challenge with brow arching. "You always talk your way out of a good thing?" Some would have called it vanity to refer to herself in such a way with such certainty but Ferah had always possessed an unerring confidence. Whether it was earned or not hardly mattered, she wasn't about to let his aloofness reflect on how she viewed herself.

Head tilted then, a break in whatever tension she'd managed to pull between them, the smile that flickered across her lip much more playful. One that seemed to promise nothing but a good time. "Wanna show me which one is yours then, tough guy?" There was his out, if he wanted it.

She was sorting through racks of clothes, choosing what would stay and what would go, when she saw her newest want through the plate glass windows. The boutique wasn't set to close for another hour, but she wasn't about to let that stop her. In something of a rush, Natalia stopped what she was doing, flicked off the lights, and grabbed her belongings before hurrying out the door. But as soon as her heeled feet crossed the threshold, her actions slowed, became almost languid, as if she had all the time in the world.

Purse in the crook of her elbow, keys jangling in one hand, phone in the other as she headed down the sidewalk, head down as if she hadn't noticed anyone or anything else, as if she hadn't closed her business an entire hour early. A faux look of surprise dawned on her face as she looked up at the muttered curse rang out in the space between the two.

The doe look didn't last for long, though, as she cocked her head to the side at Eleni, before closing the distance. Her finger tips tantalizingly picking up wetness from her mouth, before they plucked at the fabric of the other woman's body, trying to smudge the ink she was obviously swearing at, away.

"Mmmm, you're a messy one, aren't you, Vlachos?"

But she cared now, almost obsessively. The pull she felt towards Natalia feeling all encompassing. The outcome of her day suddenly hinging on whether she felt as though she had the other woman's approval whenever they did run into one another. She knew already that she'd agonise over this interaction, likely kicking herself for whatever awkward or embarrassing words would leave her lips. All traces of restraint leaving her when she was so eager to impress her.

Eyes were usually glued to her whenever they spoke, not wanting to miss anything, but they had been unable to do anything but linger as she'd watched, almost helplessly, as Natalia had brought fingers up to her lips. But then she blinked, reaching for some semblance of cool as though the image wasn't seared into her memory and likely to be replayed over and over.

"Occupational hazard." Lithe shoulders rolling into a shrug as though it was all part of a day's work to fight with her ink. "Thanks for saving me from myself. Sometimes I just get so in the zone I don't notice until it's too late." Wondering if the whole creative genius or tortured artist route would be the way to solidify herself in Natalia's good graces.