bellowin' barlow

Talking to Wyatt was something she should have done sooner. She should have come face to face with him after what Talia had done, but she had been afraid to. The fear was not something she admitted to, but deep down that was what it was — a fear of looking one of her friends in the eye and knowing that she could no longer trust him. Wyatt’s heart was large and as long as it had space for her would-be-killer (no matter the circumstance), she couldn’t stand it. So she had put up her walls and turned her back and figured that it was for the best. 

And yet she had thought it wise to meddle in his life. To not only drag Maggie from her would be place of death, but take up her offer. She’d gotten rid of an evil in his life, but it had clearly been the wrong decision. So she was dragging her feet up the familiar path to his house, where she had not been for months. She could only hope Owen wasn’t there, teeth grinding against each other. She went the way she always did, through the back, knocking on the glass with hesitation. Daiyu did not like feeling like she owed people something and today, she wanted to figure out what she exactly owed Wyatt, and how to make up for it.

—

There weren’t many positives about the situation Wyatt currently found himself in, but if he really dug deep he could appreciate the fact that Gene, so far, hadn’t been outright abusive. No more than any of the handlers were, anyway, with their cattle prods and tranquilizer guns. Both of which were meant to be used on the beasts he fought to curb their dangerous behaviors, but there wasn’t anyone regulating their use. Even Agnes had used the prod on Wyatt a few times in the past, like when he tried to refuse to fight his friend, Samir. Fat lot of good that had done him; the tool was effective, proven by the fact that Samir was now dead. And so the handlers kept using it, and Gene kept finding delightful new ways to ‘put Wyatt in his place’. As if he wasn’t already distinctly aware of his position. 

Anyway, it wasn’t anything outrageous, considering where the bar currently rested. He’d been shocked before, he’d been caged before, and he’d certainly been belittled before… so it didn’t matter. But the worst part of it by a longshot was the measly share of winnings he was permitted to bring home with him after each fight. When you had someone who had been undefeated for so long, you had to come up with more creative types of bets — so it wasn’t like the money was lacking. But where Gene had previously only been skimming off the top (and being very careful not to take any of Agnes’ share), now it all went directly to him. He had his own share, and he could retain however much he wanted of Wyatt’s for any bullshit thing he decided had resulted in a ‘fee’. Again, there was no one regulating these things, mostly because there wasn’t a need for it… but Gene hated him. Obviously. And it was less that the fae wanted to see Wyatt destitute and more that he wanted Wyatt to have to come to him begging for more money, because that would incur favors, which were his actual preferred currency. 

So far, Wyatt hadn’t sunk that low. He was trying to find other creative ways to make a little scratch on the side while not alerting anyone to the current state of affairs, generally embarrassed by the grip Gene had on his balls. Symbolically. It felt very much like when his cousin Marcel had been taking advantage of his naive trust for damn near a decade, keeping Wyatt in the dark about how much money he was actually raking in. Only this time he knew it was happening, and he wasn’t sure which was worse. 

His arms and legs ached, worn out now that he was being used as an oversized pack mule for the Pit’s expansion project: between his size while shifted, self-awareness, and opposable thumbs, he was much more useful than most of the other shifters on staff ended up being, which was just great, wasn’t it? Gene was taking advantage of this — well, actually, it was Corinna who was suggesting he lend a hand, Gene was just the one rudely enforcing her ideas. Wyatt had been bit, clawed, and otherwise injured by more beasts this past week than he cared to fucking count, and his body was over it. Never mind the fights he had scheduled this upcoming weekend… well. In the few hours he was allowed some free time at home, he had little energy for things he enjoyed. All he could think about was how to make more money to close the gap between his bills and what Gene was letting him take home, which was proving difficult. Currently, he was sat on his couch with his trumpet in hand, cleaning the damn thing while trying to imagine himself playing it on some street corner for tips, finding the whole idea unpleasant and, frankly, just about the last thing he wanted to do. 

The tap on glass was a surprise, and the shifter quickly glanced away from the task at hand to look toward the deck where the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows afforded him a gorgeous view of Darkling Lake… only to see Daiyu standing there. His breath caught in his throat. She wasn't exactly the first person he expected to show up unannounced, especially these days. She'd all but told him to fuck off, severing their friendship and then blocking his number. And then… there was the Agnes of it all.

She'd been doing Maggie a favor. And both of them, though they lacked the understanding of how fae magic worked to properly appreciate the bind he was in, their hearts had been in the right place. Maggie’s perspective he of course understood. He would have done the same for her in a heartbeat. But Daiyu was a more difficult nut to crack. It wasn't that he never would have expected something like this from her… at least not before everything that happened with Talia. But now, he had to wonder why she had agreed to help. Besides that, she was a hunter. Not a warden, sure, but still. Shouldn't she have known about the volatile nature of fae magic? Even Owen had seen the importance in not meddling. 

Boy had she fucking meddled. 

He sat there for a moment longer before shoving to his feet, setting the trumpet down on the coffee table and moving across the room toward the sliding glass door that stood between them. Slowly, he pulled it open. There was a pregnant pause between them before he broke the silence, his voice taught with emotion. “What you want?" 

— 

Killing had its consequences. Was that not what hunting was based on, anyway? Killing with consequence, but the right one. Eliminating a threat to humanity, and that consequence then being that they were better off for it. There were the other, more familiar consequences. Packs that were split up through murder, grieving beasts that wanted a place to put their anger, leaving people behind with the question of where their loved one had gone. Those were the consequences Daiyu was most familiar with. The risk and the reward.

Not this. It wasn’t often that the beasts she went after had influence on her personal life, because she kept a separating line between herself and her bounties. But Agnes had been different and not just because she had been fae. She’d been a freebie, a favor she hadn’t spoken out loud to the recipient (maybe she should have), maybe even a way to ferociously have the back of a friend she’d already betrayed. The consequences would not just come in the form of potential vengeance (again) or a(nother) target painted on her back, but they might and most certainly already had affected the person she’d been trying to do this for.

She looked at Wyatt and his trumpet and felt a strange kind of nostalgia for the ease their friendship had once offered. She could count on one hand the people she’d spoken to about her childhood, albeit sparingly, and Wyatt had been among them. He’d been her once-target, then-friend and now … well, she wasn’t quite sure, because she hadn’t been talking to him. She had not been letting him talk to her. It was about time to change that now, she knew.

When he opened the door, she noted his scent. Daiyu knew people’s smells, because her nose was too strong for her not to. She hadn’t forgotten the way Wyatt smelled, every note reminding her of what she’d closed the door on (and then potentially beat through).

“Talk,” she said, and her voice came out cracked. She cleared her throat. “To talk. Figure I — owe you.” Owing things, that was what Daiyu was no good at. She wanted people to owe her. She wanted nothing to do with others, maybe. She wanted to do right by Wyatt, because as she’d gotten rid of Agnes’ body all she’d wondered was what Owen’s expression and words had meant.

She hadn’t done her due diligence, that she knew by now. That was the thing though — she didn’t do that often, when she went after people. She saw a hit, a sum of money connected to it, and that was that. No need to figure out if they really deserved it, if there were possible ramifications for herself or those around it. But this had been a different hunt and she should have. She should have texted Owen sooner than she had. She should have asked Eve more about fae bindings and what effect death had on them. She should have talked to Wyatt. 

But when Maggie had uttered her need to see someone who hurt Wyatt dead, she had seen an easy fix. Something simple that she could do to help the friend she’d hurt. She had needed something like what Maggie had offered, some form of salvation through possibly the one thing she was good at — lethal violence. Had she been such a fool, to think that anything in this knotted mess of relationships could be easy?

She looked at her feet for a moment, then back up at Wyatt. “Can I come in?” 

—

He wanted to be angry. He wished he could be furious with her, because that would be easier. It was a familiar feeling, but he wasn’t so lucky that it was ever a pure experience. His anger was always ensnared by something else, something hurtful and piteous. When he fought with Owen, there was always an undercurrent of aching, because he lamented the fact that this was just how their relationship had to be. When he butted heads with Gene, or even Agnes, there’d been a sense of desperation and fear. The rage that encouraged him to attack Eve hadn’t even been absolute, tainted by the sorrow of a friendship ruined. And that was how he felt now: Daiyu had been trying to help. She was stupid and reckless about it (kettle, meet pot), but how could he distill his emotions down into one simple, easily-articulated reaction? It was impossible for him. So, with the hunter standing in front of him and asking to talk, saying that she owed him, he felt his sharp edges growing dull. He tried to hang onto it; to that fury that would drive her away and hopefully ensure she never tried to inject herself into his life again, but… god, he wasn’t built for that. He couldn’t hold a grudge against people he cared about, not forever. Especially not when they were the ones to extend the olive branch.

A strong breeze kicked up some dead leaves, victims of the heat wave they’d been experiencing, sending them skittering across the deck behind Daiyu. Wyatt watched them bounce along with a narrow, focused expression. Her request sat heavy in his chest. If he invited her in, was that admitting defeat? Did he care? 

He glanced back at her just as she was flicking her gaze up to his face, and he saw something in her eyes that made him feel as brittle as the dried up foliage that was now sliding off the edge of the other side of the deck to go dance in the grass. 

Speaking it aloud felt too intimate, so the lamia just stepped aside to permit Daiyu access to his home. He was glad in that moment that Owen wasn’t here, knowing that his reaction would quickly escalate the situation into something that Wyatt was just too fucking tired to deal with right now. He slid the door closed behind Daiyu, eyeing his instrument on the coffee table and cringing inwardly. He hoped she didn’t ask about it. 

Another silence hung between them, strained like a thread being pulled taught. He wondered how much force would be needed to make it snap. He didn’t know what to say, so he just waited for her to speak first, keeping his head down. He didn’t want her to see the weakness he knew must exist in his expression. First, he wanted to hear her appeal.

—

Wyatt didn’t say anything. Daiyu hated a silent treatment, which had been a common tactic used at home. Though on one hand she was afraid to hear what Wyatt had to say (as she had been with her siblings or her father), she would prefer it over these glances and movements that said plenty even if she wasn’t sure what. Wyatt was letting her in, which was one thing. He closed it behind her and she wanted him to just say something.

Just like dragging her feet, she hated starting a big serious talk. She was better at this when she was reactionary. When someone snapped at her and she could snap back. But Wyatt was silent and didn’t even look at her. Daiyu felt frustration rise at him, wanting him to grab her by the shoulders and yell at her. To react with the vitriol Owen had shown her, because that was much easier to deal with than with this. Whatever it was.

She was quiet for a moment too. Maybe hoping that Wyatt would crack the heaviness in the room by telling her she was a piece of shit. It wouldn’t be news to either of them, but it would at least alleviate some tension. Eventually she did open her mouth, distantly recognizing that wanting Wyatt to curse or snap at her was just her wanting him to lower himself closer to her level. To make her feel more comfortable with her shittiness. 

“When Maggie came into the bar, looking all fierce and then some, wanting to —” Daiyu shook her head, that wasn’t right. “I shouldn’t have — I should’ve talked to you about it, after she came to me. Even if I … despite all the bullshit. Just thought that there was something I could do to make it …” She started to rub a temple, feeling herself grow agitated with herself. She had burned plenty of friendships before, but it wasn’t often that she tried to apologize for things. “Seemed so easy, way she put it. The way I made it in my head. Do this favor for you, that’s the end of it. We’re even. Was stupid of me, I know. Should have talked to you. About … plenty of things.”

—

Wyatt knew what she wanted, in a way. She was the type of person who, like Owen, didn’t know how to handle these kinds of situations. Didn’t know how to talk to someone who felt furious and betrayed all at once, who wouldn’t just lash out because of it. If they’d been better strangers, he might have. Eve had only just crossed that line, permitting him the clarity of fury to go after her, to physically harm her. And her crimes had of course nearly ripped Owen completely away from him, which was never a scenario he reacted rationally to. Daiyu, though… god, the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her. 

He could yell, though. Maybe it would get her to open up more, as his shouting matches with Owen so often did. 

“Dere weren’t nothin’ we needed to get ‘even’ for, Daiyu,” he responded slowly. “You didn’t owe me nothin’, even if you did tell me to fuck off after… after I didn’t do shit to earn it.” He raised his gaze to meet hers, steeling his nerves. “But you’re right. You shoulda talked to me about it.” He couldn’t harp on it too much, obviously… being impulsive wasn’t exactly a foreign concept to him. 

Lifting a hand to drag it down over his face, the shifter let out a sigh. “Look. I’m… I ain’t happy about it, obviously. But I know you was just tryin’ to help. Maggie, too — and fuck, Daiyu, I’m grateful dat it was you she ran into. I’m grateful you got her outta dat place afore she could put a target on her own back. It’s… it’s my fault she went after dis in de first place, so… don’t tink I deserve much better than what I got.” 

Okay, maybe yelling wasn’t on the table after all. He felt like a half-deflated balloon skating around on the floor and spiraling off course with every gentle breeze that passersby created. 

—

Wyatt was saying that she didn’t owe him anything, as if he hadn’t paid her two thousand dollars to keep her off his back. Money he had earned fighting for the woman Daiyu had killed, in a business that was held together by fae binds and cruelty. There was a favor owed. There was more owed than that. 

Perhaps that was the closest to a code she came: the way she refused to owe people things. The way she wanted to be even with people. Not being even meant there was something people could hold over her head, and that wasn’t a position she wanted to be in. Never mind the fact that it felt wrong, in the case of Wyatt. To have taken his money, to have built up this friendship, and then to turn her back on it without properly repaying it. She had to make up for it, for all the friendship she had taken from him before closing the door on him. She owed him the equivalent of that and two thousand bucks.

“I owed you plenty,” she snapped back, not wanting to argue about the logic that was so simple to her, but might warrant a closer look. “You’re right — you didn’t fucking deserve me telling you to fuck off. I just –” Daiyu frowned, started to rub at a temple as she tried to push away the Talia of it all, as that wasn’t why she was here.

She shook her head. “Still has a target on her back,” she muttered. “Walked in there, some people saw her face, they think I took care of it. She’s a — she just wanted to help, yeah, sure, we both wanted to help but I’m not made for helping, am I? Don’t think I helped her by making it seem like I shot her out back. Or myself.” 

Daiyu stared at a wall, then looked at Wyatt. “How bad is it? Without Agnes.”

—

“Still better dan someone else actually shootin’ her out back,” Wyatt argued right back, albeit tiredly. There wasn’t much point in panicking over how close Maggie had brushed up against true danger – what would that solve? What would it change? No, he’d just continue teaching the girl how to best defend herself, and hope that as many of the rangers in town as possible agreed that selkies didn’t really pose a threat to humans. What else could he do? 

The question that had come after was harder to respond to, the truth of the situation feeling too much like a noose tightening around his neck. “It’s fine,” he lied unconvincingly. The need to downplay it in front of everyone stemmed from a need to lie to himself and convince himself that it was fine, that it wasn’t that much worse, and that it didn’t make every day of walking through those doors feel more and more dehumanizing, like his personhood was slowly being stripped away to leave behind the only thing about him that mattered to Gene and the Pit; his rage. His situation was atypical, a series of unfortunate events, and it wasn’t the kind of attention he liked. He didn’t want pity. 

“Only fight on weekends now, so dat’s nice.” No mention of the other daily tasks he’d been assigned, ones that sometimes put him in just as much danger of being injured. “Scarcity means a bigger crowd, bigger payout.” A payout he only saw a tiny percentage of. “And my new handler don’t use faun magic on me to make me more agreeable, so…” Not a lie, though it did fail to mention all the other, arguably worse ways that Gene pressed a (usually) proverbial boot to his chest to cow him into compliance. 

At the end of the day, though, he felt it was all fair. As fair as fair can be, in a place that exploits its main source of income. He was here because he had signed a contract he didn’t read. Agnes had learned how to manipulate him because he was egotistical. Gene hated him because he was belligerent. Maggie was at risk because he couldn’t keep his trap shut in a moment of weakness. And Daiyu felt indebted to him because someone else’s love for him had outweighed their common sense — and really, no one ought to love a bully that much.

“... so we’re even. Just leave it be.”

—

“Low fucking bar,” she grumbled, though she did not bother to argue the point any further. What had happened with Maggie was on the selkie, Daiyu was not bothering to deny that fact, but it was still a thorn in her side. She could no longer deny that there wasn’t a part within her that cared about the girl, considering the way she had and continued to spare her. But even the smallest sliver of care couldn’t compete with her annoyance at the situation.

When Owen had met her in that parking lot and the two of them had thrown hands for the first time – a long time coming, really – she had concluded that Wyatt’s situation was dire. More dire than it had been before. Owen had a short fuse and his violent nature mirrored her own, but even so, the way he berated and punched her in the name of Wyatt was not so subtly hinting that shit was bad. Even by fighting pit standards. When Wyatt said it was fine, she saw the lie for what it was, without even having to read between the lines.

As he offered more details, something seemed to run down and up her spine. These fae puppeteering shifters, employing hunters and whatnot on the side as well, running a well-oiled machine so people could get their fix of violence that left no scars on their skins. Daiyu unconsciously rubbed a finger over her nose, over the somewhat crooked bone. It would never grow right again — broken too often for that. At least it hadn’t been cracked in front of an audience. She killed and fought for money too, that was true: but she had no one to show off for. 

“And you see that, the bigger payout?” She did not sound convinced, because she wasn’t. Daiyu dropped her hand from her nose. “Fucking faun magic. Fae are –” She cut herself short, not wanting to go off on a rant about how bad fae could be. Wyatt and her were plenty example that humans and shifters could be bad, too. “Well. I’m still sorry. For the … change. For not, you know, looping you in.” 

Wyatt asked her to just leave it be and something ticked in her jaw. “So we just all gotta accept that this is your fucking lot in life?” Daiyu shook her head. “Don’t worry, I won’t be trying to find a way to make shit worse, and I should probably just fuck right the fuck out of your life again, but jeez.”

—

When they asked if he saw that extra money, Wyatt kept his eyes focused on the floor. He stared blankly at it for a moment before giving a noncommittal shrug. “I get by,” he murmured, perhaps not even for the hunter’s benefit as much as it was for his own. Again, not a complete lie… he did make it from payout to payout, though he wasn’t certain he’d still have a roof over his head if not for Owen, who had helpfully stepped in to fill the gaps and spare him from a foreclosure on his home. His lifestyle had suffered though, and the joy he used to get from sourcing ingredients for every recipe that came to him on a whim had been squashed, turning the adventure of getting groceries into a performative, utilitarian act. In a way, he was lucky that his diet didn’t require the addition of human cuisine, but it didn’t feel lucky to someone who loved food. Now he mostly cooked for Owen’s benefit, and even that was lacking the usual flare and creativity. Not that Owen had ever complained, but it still stung. 

She was sorry. Everyone was fucking sorry. He hated it, and not just because he couldn’t do anything to fix it. This wasn’t the kind of attention he wanted – he was supposed to be better than this. His mama had always told him he was better than this. 

“Well what the fuck else am I supposed to do, huh?” he suddenly snapped. “Keep pissing off management? Make it worse for myself? I ain’t under any kinda impression dat dis is gonna end well for me, Daiyu. I known for a while dat I’m gonna die in dat shithole, some day, when I ain’t got what it takes to keep myself alive no more. Why de fuck would I wanna go around tryin’ to find excuses for Gene to be even more of a couyon than he already is? Fuck’s sake, I get dat y’all are upset, but dis ain’t your life! It’s mine, and I just wanna wring whatever goodness I can outta it before dat place fuckin’ kills me! Okay?” His chest heaved as he sucked in a deep breath and he turned away from Daiyu. “I get it, I get it. You’re all real fuckin’ sorry for me – well don’t be. I got myself in dis mess, and I don’t want no one’s god damn pity for it. I done about reached my fuckin’ limit for understandin’ when folks feel the need to step in and try n’ fix my shit for me.” His anger at Daiyu had reared its head again, and as he rounded on them, there was a fiery intensity in his glare that’d been lacking until now. The audacity of trying to aid him while also obviously planning to kill one of his closest friends was not lost on him, and the reminder of this contradiction was very helpful in turning his misery into fury.

“And yeah, if you’re still hellbent on gettin’ revenge on Talia, den you oughtta fuck off. I am fresh outta fuckin’ patience for people tryna take my people away from me. Last one who tried it damn near got her head bit off.” His hands closed into fists at his sides. “You wanna fuckin’ help me, den you give up dat hunt. You let me keep what I got for all de time I’m gonna have it. Change your tune, or fuck off, Blade.”

—

It was easy to be angry at the Grit Pit now. To direct her rage at another target, especially one so large and mystical as the fighting ring. Daiyu wanted to let herself fall in the comfort of it and take Wyatt with her, to both rage at the institution, at least verbally and in this space. Powerlessness wasn’t something she coped with well, especially not when it pertained to others. She wasn’t the kind of friend to lay down her life for one (though she thought, sometimes, that she might like that), but she wasn’t one who stood idly by either. She was always proactive, even if that sometimes meant proactively shutting a door or proactively killing someone’s boss. 

“Fuck,” she said, because she knew what getting by was. And Wyatt wasn’t the type to get by, now was he? Daiyu could handle all the junk food and the bills and the cheap shit. She knew Wyatt liked the better things. Hadn’t they once bonded over that? Fine dining. Quality.

When the lamia snapped at her, it took her by surprise. As if the window for yelling at her had passed, even though it was a window that should never pass. “I don’t fucking know! We never talked about it —” She cursed herself. Their friendship had been simple because they had built it on simplicity. Food. Not the topics of fighting rings, Wyatt’s diet of humans eaten whole or Daiyu’s hunting activities. They had barely spoken about the Owen of it all. She figured their most serious conversation may have been about the pet snake he kept. Well, up until now. 

Something stilled in her, though. Wyatt was waiting for that place to kill him. Like a disease was spreading in him, chipping away at him, and he wanted to cling to any goodness there was. Daiyu didn’t get it. She understood feeling like life was spent in death’s waiting room – that was pretty much where hunters were born – but she did not understand the acceptance. The wish to cling to small comforts until time was there. But what place did she have to fight Wyatt on it, where she stood now? “Fine! Fine, fuck it, you can get all the goodness you want until it kills you. But don’t you fucking dare lie on your back and show your fucking belly to them. And if you change your mind –” What did she have to offer? She could kill. Kill and burn bridges. But she hadn’t figured out how to burn fae specific ones yet. Swiftly, she wondered if there was a trade to be made with these fucking fae. But it was a thought disregarded, due to what came next.

“Revenge?” The word was echoed loudly, and she felt almost offended. “I am not like her — this wasn’t ever about revenge. I wasn’t gonna fucking kill her out of some pride, out of something as fucking stupid and petty as vengeance. I had to be – I have to be —” Daiyu didn’t want to say it, that she needed to feel closer to safe. That she needed to stop feeling like every branch snapped in the woods was Talia coming back to her house, this time claws and fangs and all. That she did not want to die, and as long as someone thought that killing her would absolve her of her grief for a twin sister, she could not breathe soundly. But Talia had talked about not wanting to die killing her, and she had believed her. “My hunt on her is fucking done anyway. Doesn’t matter. She’s too much of a coward to go after me again, so I lay down my god damned weapons. Not worth the headache.” She ground her teeth. “Never thought about biting her head off for trying it on me though, did you?”

—

Daiyu’s insistence that he not roll over for the Pit was simply met with a scoff – he had some pride left, even though he’d shed a fair deal of it to better manage Gene’s pissy moods and keep himself out of the line of fire. At this point, he was of the opinion that whatever he could do to stave off more trouble and buy himself more time with Owen would be readily accepted. Gene hadn’t tested his limits quite to the extremes yet, but if he did, he’d find Wyatt to be surprisingly compliant. This was no longer about pride, nor his reputation. At this juncture, it was only about time. He only wanted more time to love the people he loved and feel that affection in return. The cost didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered. 

“Good,” he growled. “Den you done grew yourself a brain.” There was a pause – the accusation ached like a wound, but Daiyu wasn’t wrong. He hadn’t gone after her attacker. “No. I didn’t. Because it was Talia. You know if it’d been a stranger, I woulda. And if she’d still wanted to kill you after I found out about it, after I helped tend to her wounds? We woulda had a stern fuckin’ conversation. Not unlike de one I tried to have with you. I didn’t treat her no different than I woulda treated you, roles reversed. I don’t like infightin’, but you’re also both fuckin’ adults and capable of dealin’ with your own shit. The last time…” Wyatt’s voice went much softer, his heart racing in his chest. He knew Daiyu was aware of Eve’s plans, she’d been a part of them, but to admit to her what he’d done months later… “He weren’t capable of dat, on account of bein’ fuckin’ dead. Different situation. Talia gave up de fight, I was just waitin’ for you to do de same. Obviously, I didn’t wanna have to get involved.” Another brief pause. “I didn’t wanna have to hurt you. Or her.” His expression morphed into one of concern. “So… you’ve really given it up?” 

—

Daiyu felt the urge to defend herself grow hot in her chest, wanting to point out that she had had all the right to not believe that Talia had given up the fight. To her, it was still like Wyatt had chosen the werewolf over her, if only because he hadn’t cast her aside the moment she’d come into her house. Because he had tended to her wounds and let it all be. She had an ugly thought, then: maybe he couldn’t understand how she felt, because he was so powerless at the Pit, so willing to accept his fate. She cast it aside as swift as it rose, mind milling laboriously over the situation at hand. 

“Not so capable of dealing with her own shit if she needed a bodyguard and someone to clean her fucking wounds,” she pointed out bitterly, letting bite carry her words. The image of Wyatt tending to that stab wound while Daiyu awoke in her house alone and scared was making her feel close to another spiral, but she tried to hold on to the fact that Wyatt said he didn’t want to hurt her. 

She turned around for a moment, face shielded from observation, the conflict true and apparent on all her features. With fists clenched at her sides, she looked back at Wyatt. “I didn’t want none of this shit. She brought the fight to me. So did her fucking twin, not that I’m looking for any excuse as to why I killed her a fucking lifetime ago. I — if she really means it that she’s done with this stupid revenge bullshit, then sure, I can let it go. But she takes one wrong step in my direction and the silver goes in her brain next time.” Daiyu bristled. “Fucking sue me for finding it so hard to believe that she suddenly had a change of heart.” A beat. “I get we should’ve had this talk sooner and that’s on me. But I’m not fucking sorry for trying to have my own god damned back. For now, yeah. I’m done. Not an idiot, though.”

—

He knew it wasn’t fair of him to expect Daiyu to drop it so easily. As she’d said, it wasn’t about revenge. She’d not finished her sentence, but he’d picked up on her meaning on account of feeling very similarly – it was about feeling safe. Secure. When he’d discovered that Eve had tried to take Owen’s body away from him, it had made Wyatt feel insecure in the slayer’s second lease on life. He was more fragile than before, his life tethered not only to Rosemary’s, but to the mark on his chest. It would be easy for Eve to send him back to the grave, if she decided his existence was too unnatural. She’d given Owen a guard for the mark, but Wyatt had lost all trust in her motivations when she couldn’t even be decent enough to let him grieve in his own time, and his own way. She was a liar, and a manipulator. She could talk one way, then act another. He couldn’t trust her. He was afraid of her. 

And Daiyu was probably fucking afraid of Talia. 

Wyatt sighed, shoulders sagging again as all the fight went out of him. He had to save that kind of energy for the weekend fights, where it was really needed. “I don’t blame you,” he muttered. “I don’t. I know dis whole thing is a fuckin’ shitshow, and I know you must feel some type’ah way havin’ her barge in on you like she did, wid backup you thought was a friend. I get it, Daiyu. Dat’s a hard fuckin’ betrayal, and I don’t expect you to get over it just like dat.” Despite what he’d said before, when he was pissed at the both of them for what’d happened. Saying that it was just nature, that it was just how things were, and everyone needed to move on. Wishful venting. “I just didn’t wanna lose no more friends.” He rubbed the back of his neck, squeezed his eyes closed, and took a moment to center himself. “She do mean it, though. Honest. She do regret it, and I trust she don’t wanna go another round. I see her side, too. Doin’ shit you shouldn’t in de name of dead loved ones is… just an instinct, I think. For all of us. Can’t always take de time to think it over good before your feet are carryin’ you to a place you can’t come back from.” 

Opening his eyes, the shifter regarded Daiyu with a wary kind of sadness that colored his whole posture. “Are… are we gonna be good? You n’ I?”

—

She had found truth in her words when she had said them, but when Wyatt spoke those words, she still found herself comforted. A part of her thought finally, because she had yearned for this kind of acknowledgement. Another part of her knew that the reason such acknowledgement had not come her way was because she had thrown the door in Wyatt’s face and assumed his proximity to Talia would render him incapable of it. Stupid, because Daiyu was very much aware of all the space in the lamia’s heart. The fact that he’d let her in there after she had tried to kill him from behind said enough. Apologizing over and over again wasn’t something she was prone to do, but the need almost arose. She did not know why she assumed everyone functioned the way she did — in broken absolutes, avoidant and volatile. It was unfair to Wyatt, she knew that, but she also found herself incapable of understanding the multitudes he contained. She could at least acknowledge them now, though.

It seemed impossible to answer it in full, all that Wyatt said. She simply nodded, grinding her teeth. The acknowledgement brought some comfort, but also plenty of guilt, and she tried to swallow both at once. It lodged in her throat. “Well. I can understand acting rashly in the name of …” Love? Was that the word she wanted to use, to describe what she had done for (and to) Wyatt when she’d killed Agnes? She supposed so. Her throat grew more lodged. “Loved ones.” Daiyu didn’t want to compare the two acts, but she understood the red throughline that connected all these acts of violence together. It really was easier to move based on bounties. At least that was hammered home once more. 

She looked at Wyatt who carried his sadness on display so overtly. She found that for once, she did not resent someone for being so openly emotional. She swallowed thickly. “Yeah. Yeah.” She felt it was wrong, that she was the one saying that, when she had done all the damages. “I would like that.” 

—

So many aspects of these terrifying entanglements they found themselves in ran parallel to one another that it was hard not to empathize with her. Once the anger had faded, it was impossible to not see her side, to not feel what she felt. On some level, Wyatt had the sense that he could even anticipate what had not yet to come to pass, though the chaos of this universe and all the ones that ran alongside it would see to it that his predictions were never completely correct. Which, obviously, was fine. He wasn’t a soothsayer, just a man who often intuited more than he let on. 

Daiyu spoke of love, and he smiled sadly. Love was what had sent Talia after her, and her after Agnes, and him after Eve. Love was a terrible, beautiful thing, and it had to be wielded cautiously in order to prevent violence. It was like a blade so sharp it could pierce the very air, slicing through atoms and creating explosions that injured far more people than just the pair locked in combat. It was everything: a reason to live, a reason to die. A reason to hurt someone who didn’t deserve it. It was dangerous, but necessary. 

The olive branch was accepted, and Wyatt felt a fourth of the weight on his shoulders evaporate. “I’m glad to hear dat.” He knew this – serious conversations about emotions often left unsaid –  was hard for Daiyu. He knew it, and would respect it. “Thanks for comin’ to talk. You can… you best go on n’ git before Owen gets home. I’ll talk to ‘im.” It was a flimsy excuse for her to use so she wouldn’t have to linger in this exposure. She took it and the pair exchanged quiet goodbyes, Wyatt letting her out the way she’d come in. But, as she reached the top of the stairs on the deck, he spoke up to give her one last affirmation. 

“I love you too, Daiyu.” If she looked back at him, she’d only see him smiling and shaking his head as he leaned back into the house and closed the sliding glass door between them.