bambi.

Reese made room for her as she approached him, feeling himself calming due to her presence alone. Her face had been the only one he wanted to see during the three years he had been gone, and the only one he banned from visiting him. It was too much of a risk, one he wasn’t selfish enough to take. He turned his head then, pressing a kiss to her temple before speaking lowly against it. 

“Am I?” He didn’t feel all that much like himself since he got out, unsure if the man who walked out of those prison gates was the same one who had walked in. If anyone else could tell him otherwise, it could only be her. 

There was still a novelty in getting to be next to him that hadn’t quite managed to go away yet. They’d always been clingy, even before he had gone to prison, but now it felt more necessary than ever. She felt an urge to make up for lost time, but even stronger was the urge to somehow protect him. From what, exactly, she hadn’t managed to put a finger on yet.

“You are,” she confirmed without missing a beat, her voice still hushed before she kissed his shoulder, inhaling him deeply. She never spoke full-volume with him unless they were totally alone, as if she was constantly worried of people overhearing them.  “ You’ve got me.”

Dylan had always been a fairly average skilled fighter, she had to have been to survive on the streets from such a young age. Pick-pocketing would always get her so far, what she did was dangerous but she did it because she had to survive. For the most part Dylan managed to stay out of trouble, never sticking her fingers into someone else’s cookie jar but there was on occasion times when even Dylan’s meticulous mind couldn’t get her out of trouble. Training with Silver had refined her skills, making her punches stronger her reflexes sharper.

At least, Dylan thought it had been until she felt the blonde’s elbow collide with her temple, causing her to release her grip on the slim-jim and her footing to falter slightly. Dylan had taken blows to the head before, both in life or death situations and in the training room with Silver. She didn’t remember Silver’s attacks hurting this much though, she must have been holding back for her. Before Dylan could recover from the blow to her temple, she felt a sharp, shooting pain in the side of her stomach and suddenly she was crying out in pain. Dylan groaned through gritted teeth, dropping to one knee with her palm pressed against the floor; her other hand clutching at the side of her stomach. She looked down at her finger tips, crimson red staining them and her top underneath her jacket. 

She reached out for the slim-jim that lay on the floor in front of her, rising to her feet with a stagger, the pain flashing in her brown eyes. Beaux must have dropped it when Dylan had punched her, and for the first time that night Dylan didn’t feel like the stupidest person on that street. Brown eyes focused on the knife in Beaux’s hand that trickled with her blood, she’d make the blonde bitch pay for making her bleed. Adjusting her grip on the slim-jim, she shifted her stance and swung fast and hard at the blade, gritting her teeth once again to stifle herself from crying out in pain again.

It was only when Dylan crumpled to her knees that Beaux recognized Dylan. God, it was one of those fucking Losties that Smee had had in the basement ages ago. On one hand, she was impressed that this girl hadn’t offed herself yet, after surviving that. On the other hand, fuck her. 

In the back of her mind, she knew that using her knife had been a rash. Hook himself had said no killing Lost Boys...At least not yet. Oh well, thought Beaux as she pulled her knife from Dylan’s skin. It’s not like I can un-stab her. Blowing a strand of hair from her eyes, she wiped the blood from the switchblade on her pants before turning back towards her car, thinking that the other girl would get the message and accept the loss.

She’d been pulling her keys from her pocket when she felt the sharp snap of the metal against the center of her back, across her shoulder, knocking her down onto all fours. Blood from the blow to her mouth dripped onto the dirt, the wind struck out of her for one split second as her fury raged. Beaux sprang back onto her feet, rounded back on Dylan until she had gained enough ground to grab the girl by the shoulders -- struggling and tackling her onto the pavement, pinning herself on top of her.  She wound a hand into the girls dark locks, the temptation to just slam her head into the ground over and over...

“Stay down,” Beaux hissed through her teeth, exertion and possibly a fractured rib catching in her breath. “Or I’ll fucking bury you.”

Dylan had been doing a lot of stupid things lately. Crashing one of John Darling’s cars with Michael Darling in the passenger seat was one of them, attempting to steal this car and getting caught was another. Leaving the slim-jim in the car, and giving the blonde haired girl a weapon to use against her? Yeah, that was the dumbest of all her moves. Brows eyes shifted up and down the girls figure, sizing her up and seeking out any weak spots she might have— like weak footing as she stepped forward, maybe a wince of pain as she raised her arm and swung the metal right at Dylan’s head. 

The girl was quick, but Dylan was quicker; she caught the slim-jim in mid-air, the metal biting into the palm of her hand. It had caused Dylan to wince, but she was still able to tighten her grip around the metal to stop Beaux from swinging at her again. Dylan curled her own free hand into a fist, any ideas she might have had about getting out of this without a fight fading quickly as she propelled her fist at Beaux’s face.

She’d taken hits before -- hell, you practically had to go against Angel in the ring to be inducted into the Rogers. But that didn’t mean she was good at it. She was a fair wimp when it came to pain, but her adrenaline was pumping now and  she’d mope about the pain later.

Beaux recoiled only momentarily as the hit landed against her jaw, already tasting blood in her mouth. She doubled her body over, feigning being winded as she reached for the knife in her boot. Beaux then pulled herself up to her full height, swinging her elbow into the brunette’s temple with one arm and sinking her knife into Dylan’s side with the other.

Gabe shot her a curious look after she hung the picture of Jesus over the dart board, smiling to himself as he picked up another dart that he had laid out across the altar. If Gabriel had believed in God, heaven and hell and didn’t believe he was going to hell before playing darts with Jesus’s face then he sure as hell did now. At least he knew that when he finally fell into the pits of hell, Beaux would be waiting for him ready for another match of darts. It was oddly comforting. 

“You want the next shot?” He asked, holding out the dart for her. Gabriel would have preferred to use a picture of one of the lost boys, but they weren’t exactly keeping a scrapbook of them. Hell, Gabriel would have even settled for a picture of Joshua to use as target practice. Though he doubted that would go down well with everybody else. He would pin that for another time, maybe once he learned more than a few grunts and grumbles and had grown a sense of humour or two.

“Twenty pound says you can’t hit the centre of his halo.”

Beaux gave a nod when he asked whether or not she wanted the next shot. She shrugged her shoulders out of her hoodie, tossing it onto the nearest pew before stepping up to line herself up to the target.

“Must not like money.” she snorted as he laid the dart into her hand. She shrugged her shoulders up and down once, head tilting from one side to the other with a small crack in her neck. 

She let out a deep breath, one eye on the target and another closed to focus. Her arm bent swiftly as she took the shot, the dart lifting through the air and finding it’s home in the intended mark.

Beaux returned herself to a standard posture, silently holding out her hand to Gabe.

Dylan barely had time to release her hold on the slim-jim before she felt a pair of hands grip the collar of her jacket, yanking her violently away from the vehicle with a growl. So much for trying to convince the girl that this was her car after all, Dylan thought. It was clear from the blond’s display of aggression that she was the owner of the car, there was no doubting that with her vice like grip around her collar. Dylan knew she should have ran, she was smarter than this—or at least she usually was. Dylan had been making some stupid decisions as of late, this was just another she could add to the list. 

“Watch it, Blondie.” Dylan growled, remembering how Silver had taught her to disengage from an enemy if she ever found herself in a struggle against a Jolly Roger or somebody who she was stealing from. Dylan had scoffed at Silver then, rolling her eyes at the brunette and reminding her that if she didn’t want somebody to know she had been in their house then they would never know. Now, however, she was thankful for Silver being relentless in her desire to keep the two brunettes actively sparring together as she swept her arms upwards in a circular motion, knocking the blondes hands away from her collar and allowing Dylan to create some distance between the pair of them.

She hissed as if she was burned when Dylan swiped her hands away, the distance between them small and Beaux had every intention of continuing to advance. Was she lanky and doe-eyed? Absolutely. Was she quiet and creepy? Certainly. But, Jesus Christ, you didn’t want to make her angry. And this fucking Lostie with her hands on her car? First, they burned down their fucking cinema, and now this bitch was trying to jimmy into her car? She was seeing red. She wanted blood. 

Silently, Beaux reached out for the slim jim that Dylan had left lodged in the door jam, pulling it out and stepping swiftly forward. She inhaled sharply, nostrils flaring as she gripped the metal and took a swing at the other girls head.

“Hello, gorgeous.“ Dylan purred, trailing her fingers along the hood of the car. It was a thing of beauty, and Dylan had to have it. She spared a cautious glance up and down the street, only sliding the thin, metal slim-jim out of her jacket sleeve once she was sure the coast was clear. Dylan hadn’t been expecting to find a car worth stealing tonight, not after her recent joyride in one of John Darling’s more expensive rides. 

“Who do you belong to?“ Dylan pondered out loud, walking around to the passengers side door and created a wedge between between the window of the car door and the weather stripping, before sliding the slim-jim into the wedge she had created. Dylan was wasting no time in being gentle with the car, as much as it pained her to. She didn’t no who it belonged to, or when they would be coming back for it.

“Almost got — “ Dylan mumbled, watching for the subtle movement of the lock until an unfamiliar voice called out to her. Shit. Dylan quickly weighed out her options. She could either finish what she had started, and hope she was quick enough to hot wire the car and speed off, she could feign innocence to the approaching stranger and try and convince her that this was her car and she’d left the keys inside or she could stick around, take care of the blonde and carry on breaking into the vehicle.

It was the car that Reese had driven when he had pulled her out of her parents corner store -- when she was sure that he was driving her to a certain death. It was the car that he had taught her to drive in, it was what she sped away in when she did her first job. It was the car Reese had forced her from when the cops were on to them, and there was no way for them to both get out. It was the car that the police had impounded when they arrested Reese -- and she had gone after it, because if they had taken Reese from her, they sure as fuck ween’t going to take her car. It was a classic car. It was theirs.

Beaux had learned early on in her career as a criminal that there wasn’t much time for politeness or pleasantries. Why ask questions and chat when action is what got shit done? The moment her eyes caught the slim jim, Beaux had decided immediately on action. She ran with all of her speed towards the car, pulling her backpack from her shoulders and tossing it onto the hood before grabbing the unknown figure by the collar of their jacket, yanking them violently away from the car with a growl.

She hadn’t broken into the bank for money (Even though, yeah, she had pocketed some of that), but more for the computers. Vaeda had been after some mainframe financial programs and codes, and Beaux was only too happy to help.

The wails of the bank sirens were dull and distant in the darkness as Beaux shifted up her ski mask, blonde strands of hair peeking from underneath. She gave herself a half smile of pride as she rounded the corner, backpack of harddrives slung over her shoulder ass he made her way to her car...Only to see someone else trying to gain access.

“HEY!”

Noise was something Reese fast learned he had to familiarise himself with again, the bustle of the train station, the loud boom of the horn and the sound of tires behind him. He didn’t flinch at the latter, his traipse across London reminding him that life went on as his was put on pause. 

Everything felt more open and airier, but he chalked that up to how many times he was reprimanded with a twenty three hour lock up in his cell. 

He stopped dead in his tracks once the car approaching did. Traffic didn’t just pass through Neverland, there was a purpose to it be it an alcohol delivery, a town car with a mermaid or a fairy in the back alongside whatever rich fucker decided to pay for a day and on occasion a patrol car when the pigs were inclined to make themselves known. 

This didn’t feel like either of those. Reese turned slowly, cautiously, his eyes locked on Beaux’s through the windscreen with the kind of intensity a dying man in the desert stared down a mirage. It had been three years since he had seen her face, every day that crawled by made bearable only by the thought of this moment alone. 

Now he was home.

She could have sworn that it took him hours to turn around, the whole time her pleading with the universe to just give her this one thing, the whole time telling her to not get her hopes up (like she had on his first parole date). It would save her the crushing disappointment and the lines of dust it would take to cope with it later. Still, despite herself, Beaux could never extinguish that last bit of hope...

Her fingers loosened on the wheel as his profile revealed itself. A trembling hand moving down to the ignition to turn the engine of as a brief, shocked, laugh escaped her throat. As he looked at her through the windshield, made eye contact with her for the first time in almost forty months, the weight of her hit the back support of the drivers seat as her body fel against it. She had missed him so much, and just now was fully feeling that. As if if she had felt it felt it all before, she wouldn’t have survived it.

And in that moment, her brain snapped from slow motion to full speed, yanking off her seat belt and scrambling at the door handle so firmly it was a wonder she didn’t snap it off as she wrenched the door open and didn’t bother to shut it behind her. The keys fell from her hands, abandoned on the pavement, as she ran to him -- lanky legs barreling beneath her as she collided with him at full speed.

“Just remember, if Josh can find someone willing to marry him, clearly anyone can be happy.” 

Edie spoke with love- after all, the Rogers were her family, no reservations about that. Even when she wanted to throw something at them, they meant more than she would ever say. “I think that should be the new team mantra.” 

Beaux tilted her head back, letting out a scoff that was the closest thing she got to a laugh these days. She pulled her hand back to herself slowly, politely, moving to shove them into the pockets of her hoodie. 

“And get t-shirts.” she agreed with a nod.

“You’re going to until he’s out.” 

Maybe a kinder person would have sugarcoated it but Edie had never been kind. If someone could have been honest with her when she was going through it, maybe she would have been better off. 

“It hurts, and it tears you apart even when you think you’re happy, but you both are strong as hell- stronger than I was by far. You’ll survive it.”  

It had been three years, and waking up alone every morning still hurt. She convinced herself it could be worse -- that he could have died or she could have been found by police too. But Jesus Christ, that didn’t mean that it all didn’t fucking suck. Other Rogers would visit him on occasion; sometimes Angel, sometimes Hook or Josh. They would report back to her, deliver small messages, but it wasn’t the same...

She let out a long breath, pressing all the sadness to the pit of her stomach, as she did every day.

“Hope so.”

“Do you know what I used to tell myself about Mason?” Edie looked down at the ground, smiling to herself even as she remembered one of the more painful times of her life. 

“I used to list off all of the things I hated about him. I would tell myself that he made the stupidest jokes and that he got jealous about idiotic things and that when you look at him in the right light, he’s not even that attractive. Then I would get darker- reminding myself that he’s a bad guy, that he deserved to be there and that it probably was sparing me real pain to have him gone.” 

The smile soon fell, giving way to a more real part of herself that only a few were privy to. “It helped me sleep. Made me feel dumb for worrying about him. I’m not telling you to do the same, it doesn’t actually help that much. I still missed him like air, but it’s what I did to stay angry enough to be strong.” 

Beaux nodded just once in understanding because, yes, she had been in that place too. Rather, it was when she started to realize she had feelings for Reese. First, she would mentally lecture herself over what was wrong with her to feel that way about a person like him. Then she listed things that were wrong with Reese. He’s killed people. A lot of people. He took you from mom and dad. 

Look how that mantra had worked out.

“I miss him.” she mumbled.