Legends

DC'S LEGENDS OF TOMORROW

— Black Cat ; Mick Rory x OFC ( 18+ )

( book one. )

masterlist ; ongoing.

THE PITT

— Little Things ; Jack Abbot x OFC ( 18+ )

masterlist ; ongoing.

. . .

five: alba-alba

. . .

   "SIR, YOU NEED TO STOP."

   Mira, our timid night shift intern, raised her voice to an octave no one has heard before. Ellis and I stopped our charting and watched the clumsy scene unfold before us.

   Peter Reid, a drunk middle-aged man, attempted to stand from his wheelchair. His legs swayed, and the tall man towered over the nursing staff that moved to help the floundering girl. Mira's desperate eyes pleaded with Parker, and she groaned.

   "That's above my pay grade." I hummed as Peter tried to remove his gown.

   "Unfortunately, it's not above mine."

   Parker stood from her leaning position and took her stethoscope off her neck. She tucked it away in her pocket and walked closer to the agitated man.

   "Sir," she commanded his attention with her voice alone, "What is the issue?"

   He hiccuped, "I gotta take a leak."

   "Then let's use our words, big guy," she pointed at the chair behind him, silently telling him to sit.

   Nurse Bridget rolled her eyes and shook her head. Mouthing profanity to herself as she began rolling the agitated drunk down the hallway.

   Parker returned a few seconds later. She leaned against the counter, inhaling deeply, "O-kay, where were we?"

   "So the guy at the grocery store—"

   "Eli," she recalled.

   "We've been texting, and I don't know—"

   "What's making you apprehensive?" She asked while leaning into her palms.

   Parker was pretty good at reading me; anytime I took too long to respond or purposefully avoided a topic, she knew not to press further. Something in my expression must have silently told her the underlying reason.

   She had come over the other night, I made sopa, and we drank some wine to debrief the week. As our talks always do, they evolved into something deeper than originally intended. She let me talk about Silas and Carmela— actually talk about them. And for a while, their memories weren't shrouded in sadness but in laughter. We cried, we laughed, we passed out on the couch, and watched morning cartoons from our childhood while making breakfast, as I had with my friends back in Texas. It was the first morning in Pittsburgh where breathing didn't feel like a chore.

   "It's okay to let your life move on," Her voice quieted a little, and she nudged me back into my body.

   "I know," I absentmindedly rubbed at my nail beds.

   "It's just a date. It doesn't have to be anything crazy. It'll get you outta the house, give you an excuse to get all pretty, a chance just to say you did something for yourself."

   "You're right."

   "Of course I'm right," she smirked, "I'm always right."

   "Bold statement."

   "I'm a bold person."

   "Dr. Ellis," Lena cut in, "Labs are back for your patient in 13."

   "Duty calls," she hissed in a sharp breath, "Thanks. Lena."

   Before she fully left, she pointed a finger at me, "We're not done with this conversation."

   "Not done with what conversation?" Shen asked as he rolled up with two Dunkin' Donuts cups in his hands.

   "None of your concern," I smiled sweetly at him.

   John handed me an iced tea, and I thanked him, "How's the haircut holding up?"

   He loosely ran his fingers through it, "Pretty good. No complaints."

   "Great! And thank you for the payment." I held out my cup in a cheers motion. We bumped them together.

   "Oh no, now there's two of you," Jack's voice came from behind us.

   "Jealous?"

   He scoffed, "Not the word I would use."

   "Enjoy, I have a patient to check up on in nine. I may or may not need you, so stay close by." Shen playfully tapped my shoulder with the tablet as he walked past.

   When I turned back around, Jack was no longer on the other side of the room. He had moved closer, much closer. Like hovering above the keyboard at the computer station, I was leaning on closer.

   "How was going out with your friends?"

   "You remembered?" I was surprised.

   He nodded his response.

   "It was fun," I thought back to the night Claire texted me to meet up with her and some friends at a bar not too far from my apartment. I remember tequila shots being fed to me, dancing with the gals, someone's shoe breaking, 2 Ubers canceling on us, and that was about it.

   "I drank a lot of tequila and lived to regret it the next morning."

   Jack hummed knowingly, "You and tequila seem to be a dangerous combination."

   "Lethal, some might say. I'm in the last year of my twenties, so I figured I might as well test my liver's strength while I can."

   His eyes ticked up to mine briefly, "Like I said, dangerous combination."

   I laughed, "You're not wrong."

   "How 'bout you, what have you been getting up to?"

   "Oh, trust me, it's not as fun as tequila."

   He continued to read over a chart, type, then open another document, all while carrying on our conversation.

   "Tell me." I egged on, "and holy shit, you are great at multitasking."

   "It's my job," he brushed me off in a sing-songy tone, "And nothing really."

   "C'mon, there had to be something. What does Jack Abbot do in his free time?"

   "What I do in my free time is none of your business," he playfully scolded.

   "Someone's defensive," I poked my pen into his bicep until it clicked on and off.

   Jack gently swatted at my hand, "Stop."

   He tried to hide his smile, which made me smile more. I cocked my head to the side, pushing him just a little further, "What, do you put on a cape and fly around the city saving helpless individuals? Superman style."

   Jack didn't say anything right away; he let the silence stretch between us, and amusement lightened my face.

   "I'll neither confirm nor deny." He mumbled.

   "You do look a little Clark Kent-ish," I vaguely motioned to his hair, "you know, with the curls."

   "That's about as much as we have in common," Jack deadpanned, "Don't you have work you should be doing?"

   "Buzzkill," I leaned forward, forcing his eyes to meet mine. He looked so disgruntled that it made me laugh.

   Jack's gaze flickered between what he was reading and me staring at him. His furrowed brow softened just slightly, and I took that as a win.

   "Don't kill my whimsy, Abbot. You'll miss it when it's gone."

   "As long as you and your—" he used his fingers to mimic quotes around the word, "—'whimsy' get work done, I don't mind it."

   "So you like my whimsy?" I asked, very much so, enjoying annoying him this early in the shift.

   "I tolerate it," Jack logged out of the computer, finally, and leaned back.

   "Geez, Scrooge, would it hurt you to say you enjoy my company?"

   Jack stood, his arms crossing over his chest as if it were his default stance.

   "I enjoy your company," it was calm and to the point.

   I hummed, clearly amused by the drop in volume and mild irritation, "Was that so bad?"

   "Like pulling teeth," he deadpanned.

   "Ruiz," Shen called, "Need you after all."

   "Saved by the bell," I stepped past the brooding doctor and into Shen's line of sight.

   He mumbled something that I wasn't able to fully hear as I walked away. When I asked him to repeat it, he waved me off and shook his head.

   "How can I be of service?"

   John passed me the tablet with the patient's chart as he gave me a quick rundown, "Unhoused gentleman, Lance Thompson. Came in for a cut sustained from a trash can. The metal gashed his calf pretty badly. We got him patched up. He's been having trouble getting into some shelters. Think you can help?"

   I huffed out a heavy breath through my cheeks, "I can try, but placement this late is gonna be difficult. I'll see who's on call at the shelter, maybe something by the morning."

   "Anything you can do would help," John said, "Wanna talk with him?"

   "Yeah," we stopped briefly to let a gurney pass, "It'll help me get a lay of the land."

   "Great. He's in here," he announced to us before tugging open the yellowed curtain, "Mr. Thompson, this is our lovely social worker. Her name is Alba."

   "Hi Alba-Alba."

   The greying brunette repeated my name twice. His eyes bounced back and forth between me, the ground, and his hands. I smiled kindly, exchanging pleasantries with him again.

   "Hi, Mr. Thompson."

   "Your name is so pretty I had to say it twice," he smiled, his parted lips revealing a few missing teeth, "You can call me Lance."

   "Okay, Lance-Lance."

   His smile reached his eyes, and he nodded happily, "Nice to meet you, Alba-Alba."

   The man sat quietly, shoulders hunched, a worn backpack at his feet. One shoe had a hole near the big toe, and the other was a completely different brand.

   I grabbed the stool by the computer and sat down. I asked him how I could help. He had been trying to get into shelters for the better part of two months— no vacancy, no beds, just rejection after rejection. This part of the job was more logistics and playing the waiting game.

   "Thank you for sharing with me, Lance-Lance. I'm gonna call some people and see what I can do. Is there anything else we can get you in the meantime?"

   "Some juice?" He asked optimistically.

   I smiled and scrunched my nose, "I'm sure we can swing that."

   "Thanks, Alba-Alba."

   As promised, I called around, checked openings, and coordinated transport options. He had no prior stays at any of the shelters I was aware of, which bodes well for him. Typically, shelters will flag people for bad behavior, so I was banking on possibly having somewhere for him in the morning. Everyone was full tonight, so for now, he could at least rest here. Shen agreed to keep him under the guise of needing to monitor his wound for a bit longer.

—

   The night trudged ahead, it was a little more forgiving than most... but I didn't dare say that part out loud. Call me superstitious, or a little-stitious. It was now midnight, and I made my rounds, checking in on patients after doing some work on my end.

   Eleanor Novak, age 81, came into the ER after she sliced herself while making dinner. She then hit her head when she tried to grab a bandage from the cabinet below her sink. After her workup, I called her emergency contact, her daughter Marianne. She was rightfully upset and said she was on her way to get her mother.

   Ms. Novak was a very put-together woman. When I first spoke with her, she was awaiting a head CT. She had rollers in her hair protected by a scarf, a green handbag propped up beside her, and a waffle knit robe wound around her waist. Everything neat and nothing out of place. Now— she sat upright on the bed, her curls loose, rollers in a plastic bag beside her purse, and a small dressing on her hairline. Still very much put together, but a little less uniform.

   "Ms. Novak," I said softly after opening her door, "I have news for you."

   "Ah— Ms. Alba, I have a question. Do you have a middle name?" She redirected almost immediately.

   Slightly thrown by the question, I tucked my small notebook into my back pocket, "Uh, I do. It's Mae."

   "That's lovely," she gushed in the way most grandmas do, "Mine is Jean. Eleanor Jean Novak. My mother almost made my first name Jean, but my father preferred Eleanor. She called me Jeanie to get around his decision."

   "My older sister liked Mae, and my brother liked Alba, so my parents used both."

   "How wonderful," she reached into her purse and grabbed a compact and lipstick, all while talking, "How old are you, if you don't mind me asking. You are very young and seem very accomplished."

   "I'm 29, ma'am. And thank you," I clasped my hands in front of me.

   Before I could speak again, she asked me another question, her voice pressed as she gingerly applied pink lipstick, "I have a grandson who's 32. He's handsome, ginger, but attractive."

   "As interesting as that prospect may be, Ms. Novak, I am more interested in making sure you get home safe. I spoke with your daughter, Marianne, and she is on her way."

   "Oh, goodie," it was dryer than her previous tone.

   "You sound," I searched for the right word, "Apprehensive?"

   Ms. Novak huffed. She snapped her compact shut swiftly and aggressively put her things away, "I don't want to go home with that dreary daughter of mine."

   I snickered, amused by her sudden pouty behavior, "Would you like to share why?"

   Most of the time, older folks who come into the ED stick around just to have someone to talk to. I saw it all the time on the day shift; the nursing homes would send their tenants around 7:30 am each morning, and discharges never happened as quickly as they should have for that reason. Ms. Novak— Eleanor Jean, was no exception.

   "I love my Marianne, but she worries too much," she sulked, "She wants me to go to one of those dreaded homes. I don't need a home, I have one. Mine. My late Quincy and I. Ours. She wants to uproot me and stick me there. Left to rot and wither away."

   A little dramatic, but I understood her frustration. I smiled warmly and asked if I could join her. She told me to sit, and I did my best to de-escalate the crimson in her cheeks to a softer hue.

   "Ms. Novak—"

   "Eleanor," she corrected sweetly, already using a calmer tone.

   "Eleanor," I matched her cadence, "I bet you Marianne is only suggesting help because she cares."

   "Bullhokey, that's what that is," she turned up her irritation again, "She is just trying to get rid of me so she doesn't have to watch over me all the time."

   "Is that what she has expressed, or is that what you are assuming?"

   "Alba Mae, I like you," she warned, "Don't make me dislike you."

   I chuckled, "Ms. Eleanor Jean, I want what is best for you. There are plenty of alternatives for senior housing that don't involve going to an assisted living facility."

   She paused, her eyes really staring into mine. Reading and assessing me for honesty. Something in her gaze pleaded with me, begging me to understand without her actually having to explain what she was feeling.

   "I know I'm old," she began, "But I think I've been doing just fine for 81 years."

   I smiled softly. That earned me a gentler look, less accusatory, "You know assisted living isn't about losing independence. It's about keeping it... safely."

   When she didn't have a witty response right away, I kept going, "You'd still have your own space. Your routines. But there'd be people around if you needed help. Especially after an incident like tonight."

   Her shoulders softened just a fraction, "I don't want to be forgotten," she said quietly.

   The woman in front of me, who took up so much of the room, looked much smaller than she had before. Defeat and embarrassment deflated her. I reached forward and grabbed her hand in mine. Perfectly manicured red nails cradled my much less presentable hands.

   My chest tightened. "You won't be," I was firm. "If anything, it keeps you more connected."

   Pensive green eyes met mine, wanting and longing for genuine acceptance and compassion. I see you, I hear you, you are not alone. It was silently shared between us. She must have believed me in some capacity because she squeezed my hand in hers, and a tear rolled down her face.

   "Ms. Alba Mae, will you talk to my daughter?" she asked.

   "Of course."

   Eleanor reached for her purse and grabbed an embroidered handkerchief. She dabbed lightly below her eyes and asked, "Now, are you sure you don't want my grandson's number?"

—

   2 am to 4 am were my least favorite hours of the shift. It's where dumb met dumber and where horrible met tragic. A two-hour stretch where it was either completely dead or so busy that everyone went into survival mode. Tonight started out relatively palatable, but the look on Jack's face when he gently tapped my elbow to get my attention made my stomach drop.

   "Can I borrow you?"

   It was quiet and direct. He seemed tense.

   "Everything okay?"

   "Need you in four." Again, it was quick and to the point

   "Okay," I studied him quickly, trying to sense the energy of the room I was about to walk into, "What's up?"

   "Veteran. Came in after a suicide attempt."

   Oh. The air around us was heavy, thick, and sticky. I instantly reached for his arm, "You good?"

   Jack squared his body towards mine, halting his movement, "Yeah. Yeah. I'm fine. He just needs someone to talk to."

   "Got it," I let his arm go and gestured for him to continue forward.

   "Jaime Martinez, he's in his 40's. Ex-Military."

   With the brief information, Jack knocked twice on the door before turning the handle.

   "Jaime, this is Alba. I thought it'd be beneficial to have her sit with us while we talk."

   Jaime's forearms were bandaged. His eyes drooped with a tiredness that went beyond physical exhaustion. I stepped in gently behind Jack and introduced myself. We took a seat and took things very slowly. The conversation started like most assessments, careful and direct but not too clinical. I did my best to sound understanding and approachable.

   "You came in looking for help. That's a big step."

   He eyed us with a faint wariness, but nodded eventually. I continued to build the entirety of him and his situation— the biological, psychological, and social aspects of his life. Allowing space for honesty. Neither of us rushed to fill any silence.

   Jack didn't interrupt; he just sat there listening and absorbing. So intent and tuned in to the shaken man.

   "It sounds stupid, man. I just feel like I'm drowning and I can't come up for air. It's a feeling I've never been able to fully shake... not since coming back," he admitted tiredly.

   Jaime's palms dug into his eyes, and he leaned forward onto his knees, "It's been a rough couple of years, man. I haven't been able to hold down a steady job, my girl left me, I lost so many of my brothers to this shit, I just feel like I lost something out there. Like, a part of me died, man. I had a purpose out there, a family. Now that family is gone, the VA doesn't do shit, and I'm so tired. So fucking tired that I just wanted all of it to stop. I just... I needed something to feel different. To remind me that I was real. In my body, real. Cause for a while it's just felt like I'm hovering above my life, while something else steers it."

   Jack shifted beside me, finally speaking after a prolonged silence, "How long have you been out?"

   "8 years."

   "What branch again?"

   "Marines."

   Jack gave a small nod and gestured to himself, "Army."

   Jaime met Jack's eyes for the first time since I walked in. Something shifted, subtly, but noticeable enough that he sat up a little straighter. He studied him. Jack didn't shift or fidget under the evaluative gaze.

   "What did you do?" He asked Jack.

   "I was a medic."

   "Gunnery Sergeant."

   Another quiet beat passed between them. Then Jaime laughed dryly, "I don't feel whole, man, I don't even recognize myself."

   "Yeah," he said simply, "I know the feeling. I came back and struggled to cope with everything I saw. I lost people, too, struggled to find my footing, and nothing about the transition back was easy. The real kicker was losing a leg."

   Jack lifted his left pant leg just enough to reveal a metallic prosthesis. More silence, then a quiet respect. Jaime nodded once. Jack eyed him up and down.

   "How are you sleeping?"

   Jaime let out a humorless laugh, "I'm not."

   Jack frowned in thought. His thumb wiped mindlessly at the tip of his nose, "Too quiet, right? Or too loud, it's overwhelming?"

   The exhausted vet nodded, "Yeah."

   "Nightmares?"

   Mr. Martinez hesitated, "Sometimes."

   "Me too."

   Worn-down and bloodshot eyes pleaded with us, "I just don't know how to exist anymore, Doc."

   Everyone sat with the confession. I observed Jack, monitoring his own expressions. He let Jaime's words sink in, and he seemed to teeter on the edge of saying something.

   "You don't have to figure it all out tonight. Helping yourself is a process. But there are ways to make it better— not perfect, but better." He was quiet and focused.

   I felt Jack swivel in his chair beside me, his knee bumping mine. Briefly, hazel eyes flickered up to me, mine. Jack whispered, "Do you have any paper?"

   The notebook I shoved in my pocket earlier. I opened it and tore out a small piece of paper. His eyes silently thanked me, and he scribbled out a memorized phone number.

   "I used to go to a support group," he began, "Buddy of mine runs it. He served too, so he gets it."

   Jaime watched carefully. Jack folded up the paper and handed it over, "Call him. Text him. He's better at this stuff. Or don't. Just keep it."

   Mr. Martinez took it. Turned it over a few times and put it inside his wallet.

   "Did it help any?" Jaime asked, hesitantly.

   "I wouldn't have kept going if it didn't do something."

   A faint nod came from Jaime, "Okay."

   We spent a few more minutes with him. I filled in the gaps—resources, safety planning, next steps. Made sure he wasn't leaving alone. Made sure he had options. Real ones, not just pamphlets or outdated websites.

   When we finally stepped out of the room, the door clicked softly behind us, and I exhaled slowly. Jack and I stepped off to the side, the deafening silence from before now completely gone. The chaotic noise from the ER amplified and warped, before my ears adjusted properly.

   Jack stayed quiet for a second. Then leaned back against the wall, running a hand over his jaw, "Thanks for that."

   My arms crossed over my chest, "Anytime."

   When he avoided my eyes and didn't offer anything further, I decided it was probably in my best interest to give him some space.

   "You did great. I mean it. You gave him a perspective and assurance in a way I couldn't.

   Jack shrugged, "Sometimes it helps hearing it from someone who's been there."

   We studied each other for a moment. Something softer sat under the surface tonight, and I got the feeling he didn't show it often. While I had been under the weight of his gaze before, this was very different. I thought I would find him just a tiny bit more intimidating this up close and personal, but found the opposite to be true.

   "I'm here if you ever need to talk," I said gently, "I've been known to listen."

   As far as I'm aware, he's never looked at me this long, although I get the distinct impression that he's watched me for longer, observing me. I don't mind it. It's nice... feeling seen.

   Jack simply nodded.

   "I'm going to get some paperwork started for him," I stepped a little closer, reached out, and gave his arm a light squeeze as I moved past him.

. . .

four: grief and loss

. . .

    UNFORTUNATELY, AT THE AGE OF TWENTY NINE, I WAS VERY INTIMATE WITH THE FIVE STAGES OF GRIEF. Depression, bargaining, denial, anger, and acceptance— all five never linearly felt.

   At 19, I had lost my 34-year-old sister to an aggressive form of breast cancer.

   I began grieving the loss of my 37-year-old brother at 27– courtesy of a drunk driver on I-376.

   At 29, I grieved the life I had originally thought I was going to have. At any given time, I feel this immense hollowness that will probably never go away. And I don't think I want it too, because grieving them— missing them is the closest I have to having them again.

   That unnamed pain and anger... It's a reminder of how much love I felt for them. It's a reminder of how much space they took up in my world. It's their way of reminding me to take care of myself, slow down... and appreciate the little things.

   Anytime someone asks if I have siblings, I struggle with the answer. Yes, I do. Or did. Do you stop being a sibling once they are gone?

   I don't think I ever allowed the reality of their deaths to sink in fully. In all honesty, I don't think I can. If I think about it for too long, I'm scared it'll swallow me whole. The thought that they will miss major milestones, conversations, and wisdom that'll never be passed down, moments they were supposed to stand beside me for.

I carry the guilt of laughing again, of planning my future, of living in a life they don't get to see. It was a tricky thing being the youngest, because while I didn't get to see them young while I was growing up... I at least thought we'd grow old together.

   As a very sentimental person, I have a very difficult time throwing things away. I hoard, collect, and curate mementos and memories of loved ones. Ticket stubs, concert bands, pictures, and miscellaneous items clutter a box under my bed. Large loopy letters written in Sharpie label it: for when you want to remember.

   An entire section of my jewelry box is dedicated to all of my sister's jewelry she owned, most of it was costume jewelry... things I'd never really pick, but I can't bring myself to throw them away.

   My brother's sweatshirts take up a drawer in my dresser. They're thin, some with holes and others frayed at the seams, and still faintly smell like him. The flowers he bought me for my birthday last year are dried out and hanging in my bathroom. A baseball he got signed for me by Brad Ausmus and Jeff Bagwell sits in a case on my dresser. Memories to remind me of them.

   I still feel it in my chest sometimes— the exact moment everything changed both times. Neither my sisters' nor my brothers' death was loud. They were silent and paralyzing. They were also very different. One was anticipated, expected, given a time frame of when and how it could happen.

   The other was sudden and disorienting... a complete shock to the nervous system. Isolating. A reminder of how fragile and precious every moment could be.

   Sometimes it feels like I'm stuck in those moments... reaching and waiting for them to tell me it wasn't real.

   This morning was no different.

   I was tired. Down to the middle of my bones, tired. Couldn't move, kind of tired. Weighed down by everything that I've suppressed and things I have yet to confront. Utterly exhausted.

   My phone lit up with texts from my mama. The light was too bright, and I face planted back into the pillow. Only when it got too hard to breathe did I sit up.

   The phone buzzed again.

MAMI:    Good morning, cariño 🌞

MAMI:    Can you please take the cookies today? I have to go in early. Thank you! I left them on the counter. Papa is already at work too. Besitos, mamá.

MAMI:    Can you also bring in the trash cans?

   Another thing to add to the list. I groaned, willing my body to get up. Physically moving took me another 30 minutes. Forcing movement on myself, I stood and stretched. Tired feet carried me to the bathroom, and uncooperative arms lazily helped me get ready for the morning.

   My parents' home was roughly 28 minutes away, then it was another 10 minutes away from the VA, and the VA was 20 minutes away from my sister-in-law's place. And there goes my whole day.

   One scalding mug of Earl Grey and a mildly concerning amount of honey later, I was walking out of the apartment. Keys and purse in hand, I only realized my phone was still inside when I was buckled up.

   Fucking shit.

   I went back upstairs and grabbed the four other things I managed to forget in my morning haze: phone, birth control from the purse I just changed, a new pack of mints, and my room chapstick since my car chapstick turned into my work chapstick.

   I paused, my body spinning in a circle to give the room one last once over. I think I had everything.

—

   My parents have lived in their house for almost a decade now. They moved to Pittsburgh when my sister-in-law was pregnant with my niece. My parents wanted to be close, to help out. I was still in Texas for my undergrad, and my sister was in Chicago at the time, but I came and visited a lot.

   After dragging the trash cans to the side of the house, I fumbled to separate the Star Wars themed key from the rest of my stuff. My dad had picked it out, claiming it was the only one left, but I honestly didn't mind it. Sadly, Princess Leia's face was almost completely worn off and practically silver.

   With the door finally open, I made a beeline for the fridge and stole a Diet Coke. Two red-lidded Tupperware sat on the counter with a sticky note on top of the largest one, reading: thank you, cariño! I left you some on the side to take home. Enjoy. -mami

   Every third week of the month, my mom would drop off some baked goods at the VA for the staff my brother used to work with. She did it before he died, and she's continued it long after. When I visited over the summers, that was my job. My payment then was leftovers and a twenty-dollar bill my brother would slip me before I headed back home. It was always some variation of empanadas, cookies, or cake. Continuing the tradition helps her with her grief, I think.

   With the containers in hand, I locked up and plugged in the address to the VA on my phone for directions.

—

   As I parked the car, my palms and feet began to sweat. My stomach hollowed out, and my vision narrowed. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath in, followed by a long exhale.

   I hadn't visited since he passed... honestly, I've kind of been avoiding it. His coworkers reached out, but I'd come up with excuses of either prepping for work or moving.

   Just go in. The quicker you are in, the quicker you can get out. Avoidance is never healthy, but in this moment I could give two shits. And that was me prioritizing self-care.

   Begrudgingly, I got out and made my way inside. I knew my way around the building pretty well, so it didn't take me long to arrive on the family medicine floor.

   "Do my eyes deceive me, or is that Alba Mae?"

     I smiled, "Hi, Ms. Ashlee."

   The elderly black woman stood from her chair and walked around to the front of the desk. She wrapped me in a hug and squeezed tightly.

   "How are you settling in, hon?"

   "Hanging in there. Started my new position over at PTMC."

   She pulled back just enough to cradle my face in her hand, "Good, baby."

   "How are you?" I threw the question back at her.

   "Busy. Taking care of the grand babies and keeping this ship running," she took the Tupperware from my hands and gestured for me to follow her to the break room, "Is your mom here too?"

   "No. Just me today. She got caught up at work, so you'll have to settle for me."

   She huffed, mildly scolding me, "Settle? We've been begging her to make you come by."

   Guilt prickled at the base of my neck, "Sorry 'bout that. It's just—"

   "I know. It can't be easy." She sympathetically smiled.

   "Is that Alba?" A familiar blonde woman practically charged me.

   "Claire!" I laughed as she tackled me.

   Tightly wound around one another, I suddenly felt a little more relaxed. I first met her three years ago when I was visiting my brother. She's a nurse here, close to my age. We got along very well, and she quickly became incorporated into my Pittsburgh routine.

   "You left so quickly after Sila's funeral. I never got to say goodbye to you." It was muttered into my hair.

   "I know. I'm sorry."

   She backed out of the embrace and gathered my hands in hers, "Now you have to make it up to me." She smiled sweetly, the gap between her front teeth on full display.

   "Oh, do I?" I teased.

   "Uh-huh. I'll text you when and where. I need to go dancing soon."

   "I'll hold you to it."

—

   Around midday, I said my last goodbyes to my brother's coworkers and headed out to my sister-in-law's home.

   It was an odd sensation, feeling uncomfortable in a place that once felt like a secondary home. Today was major exposure therapy.

   Out of the car and in front of the door, I knocked twice. A tiny face peeked out from the living room window, "She's here!"

   "Stink bug," I called out.

   "Ti Ti!"

   The door opened, and Jemma's relieved smile welcomed me. "She's been begging for you nonstop."

   "Good thing I'm here now."       Jemma wrapped me in a hug. My hands rubbed up and down her back, "Hey, Jemmie."

   "Albie." She kissed my cheek and tugged me in.

   "Girls' day!" Cecelia announced while running to grab the contents of her scattered purse.

   "Looks like someone started without me," I laughed as I helped pick up a whole lime, a broken hair tie, a few Cheetos, and a littlest pet shop.

   "Someone had to get the party started," she reasoned as if it were a no-brainer.

   Jemma shook her head, hiding her smile behind her palm, "That's all your brother."

   "Yeah, you definitely have your hands full with her."

   I handed the loose contents of CiCi's purse back to her. She bowed and quickly retreated to her room.

   "Already being ditched?"

   "We went shopping yesterday and wanted to wait until you got here to pick out her outfit. She is very pressed about the decision."

   "Ahh," I nodded in understanding.

   We collapsed on the couch, exhaustion weighing our limbs into the worn-in cushions. A few moments later, CiCi scurried out of the hallway wearing a fluffy princess robe, holding up two hangers: one with a pink dress with yellow flowers, the other was also pink but with orange polka dots.

   "They're just so different."

   She was dead serious. I bit my lip to hold back a laugh. With narrowed eyes, I stared at the choices, "What vibe are we going for, Stinky?"

   "Cute. Something to wear with my boots," her tiny nail-polished finger pointed at the sparkly pink cowboy boots by the door, "Just casual, you know, a going-out look."

   I looked down at my outfit, "If that's the case, I'm severely underdressed."

   She took one look at my jeans and t-shirt, "I'm sure I have something you can borrow."

   The 6, soon to be 7-year-old, spun on her socked feet and waved her hand for me to join her. Jemma and I looked at each other and burst out laughing.

   "Go before she starts yelling. She runs a tight ship."

   I stood, my feet slipping a little on the hardwood floor. CiCi did, in fact, shout my name when I didn't come quickly enough.

   "Okay, Stinks, what'cha got for me?"

   She now had a comically large gem ring on her finger. Pensively, she glanced around the room. Ribbon, clothes, feather boas, and fairy wings cluttered the colorful room. The funny thing is, Jemma texted me this morning that it took her forever to clean CiCi's sequence-infested room. To be fair, CiCi did enjoy deep cleaning... but only if she was in the mood and if Selena was playing. She also enjoyed cleaning other people's rooms; she is nosy and likes to snoop.

   Earrings and scarves were thrown in my direction. I was directed to sit in front of her mirror. She held each item against herself, eyeing the reflection, before doing the same to me. Her nose either scrunched in disapproval or her eyebrows rose really high when she liked a combination.

   "Here, Ti Ti, you can wear this one, it won't work with what I have."

   She handed me a brown scarf with daisies on and I tied it on one of my belt loops. She handed me a matching pair of white daisy clip-on earrings, and I traded them for the hoops I had on.

   I turned to her for approval, "Survey says?"

   She pursed her lips and told me to stand, "Do a spin."

   I did as I was told, and she nodded, "Better. How do you feel?"

   A smile tugged at my lips, "Fabulous."

   "Then that's all that matters." CiCi grabbed my hand and stared at our reflection again. She posed, her body swaying side to side.

   My heart clenched as I willed away the tears that began forming. She had Silas's nose and eyes. People always say the firstborns look like their dads. I'm lucky to have this little piece of him at least.

   "You okay, Tia?"

   "Yeah, baby," I crouched down to her level. My hands smoothed over her wispy hair, "Just thinking about your papi."

   CiCi's face morphed into something serious. Her hands reached up, little fingers adjusting my glasses.

   "I do that a lot too," her voice sounded so small, "Mrs. Marjorie says it's good to do that. And that it's okay to cry."

   Her thumb wiped over my cheek, and I didn't realize a tear escaped. My eyes clenched shut, trying to drown out the anxiety clawing up my throat. It was unfair, so fucking unfair. Not for me, but for her. My sweet Cici. Her touch grounded me— warm and soft. Before I could open my eyes, her small arms wrapped around my neck.

   "Thank you, baby." I breathed her in. A beat passed before I recovered and said with complete honesty, "Mrs. Marjorie is very smart."

   "She is. She is."

—

   Jemma snuck out an hour later. She deserved the break. So, with CiCi strapped into her car seat, we made our way to my dad's record store. It wasn't too far from the park where we spent the past hour playing.

   The sign that hung above the door was the original one from his first shop back in Houston— Hector's Records. It was sandwiched in between a coffee shop and a small dance studio.

   Inside was much smaller than the one he had in Texas, but it was covered from floor to ceiling in cd's, band posters, and vinyls, of course. Amber lamps drenched the space in warmth, and the stained glass in the window made colorful shapes appear on the floor. He had those in the original store too; they were always my favorite. I'd play on the floor with my toys, my fingers tracing the contoured outlines. CiCi did the same thing.

   Jaycee, one of Papa's shop hands, smiled as she saw us, already waving us to the back where Papa was setting up a new display. It was a 'staff picks' section. Above the colorful tags, I'm sure Jaycee had made a record with a brief description as to why they picked it. Papa picked Highwaymen by the Highwaymen, Jaycee opted for Cowboy Carter by Beyonce, Anya had Emails I Can't Send by Sabrina Carpenter as hers, and Miles picked a record with AC/DC's best hits.

   When Papa finally saw us, his mustache lifted as he smiled, "Mis preciosas."

   "Hola, papi," I kissed both his cheeks and hugged him tightly.

   "Mi vida," he responded against my hair before pulling back.

   My dad and I spoke mainly in Spanish to one another, especially when CiCi was around so she could practice. CiCi was swept up in his arms, and he nibbled at her head while tickling her. She yelped, and laughter instantly filled the room.

   "Hi, Popo," she giggled.

   "Hi, sweet pea."

   He held her in his arms and whisked her away to pick a record to add to the display. Before he left, he told me to do the same. As they walked down the aisle, I sneakily snapped a picture of them and sent it to Jemma. She responded almost instantly with a heart.

   I took my time, thumbing through different genres. First blues, rock, musicals, then hip hop and R&B. Fugees' The Score felt right for the moment. Two isles over in the kids section, CiCi held two finals in her hand, one the soundtrack to Cars, the other a medley of Disney songs.

   "You want to do both?" Papa asked her.

   "Yes, I can't choose just one."

   Her voice always went up an octave when she spoke in Spanish, and it was the cutest fucking thing possible. She held both up proudly when she saw me, "Ti-Ti! Look."

   "I see," I laughed at her enthusiasm.

   "C'mon, let's go put them up. I'll have Jaycee make two more name tags."

   "On it!" She announced from the other side of the shop, having overheard us.

   CiCi asked if she could help, and Jaycee pulled a stool up at the counter beside her. Markers were pulled out of a bin just below the register. She had precut strips ready to go. CiCi was messy in most things she did, but she tried really hard when it came to her handwriting.    Still keeping her in my eyeline, I sat near my dad as he went back to his display. We didn't say anything at first. I just closed my eyes and let the music in the store numb me. The song switched, and Dad hummed softly to Ritchie Valens' Oh Dona.

   If I tried hard enough, I was eight years old again in the garage listening to him sing. Back when our family was whole, and loss had yet to touch us. When things felt calm, nothing world-stopping had happened yet, and all I had to worry about was what I was going to wear to school the next day.

   "You're quiet today, mijita."

   "Just tired, papi."

   A pause, a soft lull in the stillness, then a follow-up, "Is that all?"

   My eyes opened, and I sat up. Soft eyes watched me with concern. I inhaled deeply and smiled softly, "just missing everyone."

   "I understand," His morose expression sat heavy on his face, "Me too."

   It was quiet again, both of us very aware of the hole, no, the chasm of unnamable emotions that come along with losing siblings and children. Made to mourn the person you were before them and forced to accept who you are after. Navigating that uncharted path with parents generations older than you, who were never raised to confront emotion or deal with pain.

   Papi did his best. He listened, he comforted in ways only a person who's lost two children can. Mami isolated, she ignored, and she got angry. She forgot to check in and chose to cry on her own— putting on a mask of strength. Two sides of the same coin.

   We did our best.

. . .

three: famous last words

. . .

TONIGHT CONCLUDED MY FIRST WEEK ON NIGHT SHIFT. Three days on, two nights off, two days on again. A never ending cycle I sold my soul to.

   By the end of my first week, I learned three things:

   One: time is a weird construct we are all forced to subscribe to.

   Two: a place can have a personality, and the ED was a prime example of that theory.

   Three: caffeine in any form is a must.

   It always took my body longer than I'd like to admit to adjust to any sort of time change. Between the move and attempting to rewire my sleep schedule again, rest in any form alluded me.

   Running on pure adrenaline and snacks, I did my best to be as competent during business hours as I could. Parker, bless her, did her best to help. That included coming over for dinner before shifts and reminding me that functioning as a human outside of the hospital was possible.

   The chaos came in waves instead of a steady stream. Moments of eerie calm followed by bursts of urgency that snapped everyone into motion. While working in the ED, you learned to read the room, to feel when something was about to happen before it actually did.

   Assume benevolence, trust your gut, listen to your instincts, and lead with curiosity.

   Lucia drilled that into me while I interned with her during undergrad. She helped armor and mold me to survive an emergency department. She also told me always to bring comfy shoes and a spare change of clothes. I already had to bust into that bag once this week.

   Now, seated at the hub, I reread discharge notes, hoping my brain would compute it the second time around.

   "Still alive?"

   I looked up from my tablet to see Parker leaning against the counter, sipping a Red Bull.

   "Barely."

   She chuckled and must have caught on to my longing gaze, "Want a sip?"

   "Yes, please," I winced, "Thank you."

   I greedily took a sip and thanked her profusely afterwards.

   "Chin up, baby cakes, we got 10 more hours of this shit."

   "Fuck," I groaned softly and leaned forward on my elbows. My hands covered my eyes in an attempt to physically hold my sanity together long enough to get through this shift, "I need like thirty seconds."

"Take sixty then get back on the horse, Tex."

   Ellis patted my shoulder sympathetically before leaving. My eyes thanked me for the brief relief away from the bright lights. My palms pressed lightly until I saw fuzzy white stars in the darkness.

    Movement continued around me— chattering voices, shoes shuffling, wheels squeaking, the usual hum of the ER as we crept closer to midnight.

   "Just cause you can't see us doesn't mean we can't see you."

   Jack.

   "If I ignore you, it's all the same thing," I muttered from behind my hands.

   "Now, why would you ignore me?" His voice was gravelly, "I've been told I'm excellent company."

   "Just a bucket of sunshine."

   My hands finally dropped. Jack leaned on his forearms, observing as always. Calm and acutely aware of everything.

   He dropped his voice, speaking quietly enough to make the conversation private, "We're barely two hours in. You gonna make it?"

   "No choice."

   "Rough day?" His brow wrinkled.

   "Sleep and I are like oil and water," I clicked my pen absentmindedly, "Lanie is still out, so I'm the only case manager for tonight."

    Jack frowned, tilting his head as he surveyed the room before returning to me.

   "You got it."

   He reached into his pocket and tossed something at me. I clapped it in between my hands and read the label—a peanut butter flavored protein bar.

   "A peace offering."

   My eyes silently thanked him as I ripped open the package and began inhaling the contents.

   "Come up for air, no one's gonna take it from you."

   I lightly tossed my pen at him. He caught it effortlessly and pointed it scoldingly, "Don't throw things in my ER."

   "I'm getting my second wind," I said, pushing up from the chair and walking over to retrieve my pen. I held out my hand silently. His lips pulled to one side, and he placed it back in my palm.

   "Famous last words," he added, eyebrow lifting.

   "Mm-hmm." I turned, already walking backward toward the elevator, "Call me when you need me."

—

   The night picked up as it always did around 10 o'clock. It was the odd in-between hour, people were just starting to go out and make stupid decisions, while others were tucking in for the night. I was sad I was not a part of the latter group.

   Intakes, phone calls, and coordinating with transport teams all kept me busy. I just finished up a case with Shen and walked back to the hub to ask Lena a question.

   I looked up from the tablet in my hand when movement caught my eye. An older woman waddled in from the ambulance bay, blood staining her shirt and streaking down her forehead in rivulets. She blinked slowly, looking around aimlessly. No one seemed to see her; everyone was caught up in their own tasks.

    "Oh my god," I immediately walked over to the bleeding woman.

   Her spacey gaze fell on mine, and she reached out her arms, "Español?" It was breathy, unsure.

   "Si," I quickly switched my tongue and looked over my shoulder to see if anyone else saw her, "What is your name? What happened?"

   She shook her head, trying to gain her bearings, "I'm Silvia. I- I was walking home from my shift at Superior Grocer a-around the corner. These men— they came out of nowhere and started hurting me. They took my purse and—"

   "Okay, okay," I glanced around the room again, looking for literally any doctor. Jack stepped out of Central Six, and relief washed over me.

   The woman gripped my arm, and her eyes rolled back. Her knees gave out. I moved quickly, catching her instinctively.

   "Abbot!" I called sharply, "I need help!"

   His head snapped in my direction, along with everyone else. He was beside me in seconds, yelling for a gurney.

   Everything moved fast after that. She was quickly transferred. Jack asked Lena which room was open, "Central ten!" She directed quickly.

    I followed them. After a few moments, she came to as they wheeled her into the exam room. Panic hit her almost immediately, and her chest rose rapidly. Her eyes darted around the room, stopping once they found mine.

   "You're okay, you are at PTMC. You are safe. We are doing everything we can to help you," I quickly reassured in Spanish.

   Leads were placed, monitors began beeping, and vitals were called out. I hovered, trying to calm her rising nerves. Jack worked quickly, every bit focused and efficient. Gently, he nudged me aside with his elbow, his eyes not leaving Sylvia, "You can stay, but I need you to stay back so we can work."

   I nodded and retreated a few steps. Sylvia's pupils dilated, and it was like I could see the moment her adrenaline wore off. She cried out, and I called for her name, "Breathe with me. In. Out. I know this is stressful, but we need you to breathe."

   I spent the next five minutes coaching her through different breathing patterns. Attempting to keep her eyes on me so she didn't totally freak out.

   Eventually, her breathing slowed, and they were able to stabilize her. Mara, an intern, stepped in to clean and dress Sylvia's wounds. Jack's eyes met mine, his chin jutting towards the door. I told Sylvia I was going to step outside, but if she needed me, tell a nurse to come find me. She nodded her head and thanked me.

   The ghost of Jack's hand nudged me along as we stepped out into the hallway. When the door shut, I released a long sigh, my hands running along my hairline.

    "You okay?"

   "Yeah, I'm a big girl," I leaned against the wall, "it's just a little more action than what I'm used to."

   Jack's lips ticked up in amusement, and his arms crossed over his chest, "You handled it well."

   His eyes fixated on my body, a deep furrow set on his brow. My chin dipped into my chest as I followed his eyeline— blood.       "Cherry on top."

   "Yeah."

   "Fantastic," I muttered, defeated and unamused.

   Jack huffed a quiet laugh, "Occupational hazard."

   "I guess so. Well, I'm happy she's okay."

   I looked back up, and he met my eyes, "She is," he said, "Thanks to you getting to her fast."

I smiled faintly. My fist balled up on my hips, and I straightened my posture, "Feels like I should be running this place."

   "Go change," he cracked a smile. A genuine smile. Teeth and all.

   "Yes, sir."

   He rolled his eyes slightly at that. As I walked past, I gave his bicep a gentle squeeze. His eyes ticked down to my hand as I left.

—

   A brief wardrobe change and half a Diet Coke from the staff lounge later, I was back on the floor.    The rest of the shift stayed busy but manageable by night shift standards. No major traumas, just a steady flow of work. Drunk guys, unhoused folks looking for a bed to crash in, a 24-hour diner worker vs a fryer, and a pregnant woman who gave birth before they could even get her up to OB. That one was crazy.

   Somewhere in between drunk guy number 4 and the pregnant lady, my left eye began to sting. My fucking luck. When I went to inspect it in the bathroom, my contact ripped, and I didn't have a backup pair. Nice. Perfect.

   So, another trip back up to the office and a good few seconds rummaging through my bag later, eventually had me putting on my glasses. It's not that I didn't like them, it's just I preferred contacts in the work setting. The ED was fast-paced, and I hate worrying about cleaning them and making sure they stayed in place.

   I barely made it a few steps when Lena spoke, "Did the outfit change come with the lenses too?"

   "Yup. My contacts decided they were ready to punch out before me so—" I gestured to the rounded brown frames on my face.

   As I grabbed a tablet from the hub, someone placed one back. I could feel their heat behind me, and I turned to see who was invading my personal space. Jack.

   He took a few steps back, his arms crossing over his chest. His lips pursed, and he tilted his head, "Nice glasses, Poindexter."

   I scrunched my face to adjust the frames, "Lost my contact."

   "Tragic."

   "Devastatingly so," I mumbled as I pulled up the chart for the lady in twelve, "Did the police arrive yet for Sylvia?"

   "Not yet, I'll keep you updated."

   I looked back up, immediately pinned by Jack's eyes, "Boy, you love to stare, don't you?"

   "Observing."

   My head leaned to the side, "Judging is more like it. What are they too big? Too small?"    "No, Goldilocks, they fit just right." Without breaking eye contact, he leaned around me to grab his coffee cup.

   "Is that a compliment?" I hugged the tablet to my chest, my eyes not breaking from his. I could play his game. It felt almost like chicken, who was going to break first.

   "An observation," he repeated.

   "Right," I pushed back on my left heel and propelled myself forward. I tapped my index finger in between my eyebrows, "Relax your brows, Abbot. You're always so tense."

   "I haven't known a day of peace since meeting you, Ruiz."

   "And your life's more interesting for it, aight it," I retorted as I turned to walk away.

   "The patient in thirteen is still waiting for you," he changed the subject.

   "Yeah, yeah. I'm getting to it," I waved him off, "Don't you have lives to save?"

   "Smartass," it was more to himself, but I still faintly picked up on the comment.

   "I do have a great ass," I started walking away, and Jack's mouth sputtered open.

   His neck turned red, and he placed his hands on his hips, "That's not what I—"

   "Say it louder and prouder next time, Doc."

—

   4 am arrived slower than I would have liked. Parker and I went over a discharge plan with a patient in Central Four, sharing her insurance options. On the way out, we nearly bumped into an EMT as they left.

   A familiar freckled face began apologizing before recognition silenced him, "Alba?"

   "Wally?" I scoffed, genuinely shocked to see him. When I was close enough, he scooped me into a tight hug. Parker eyed me curiously after he set me down.

   "Wallace," she nodded her greeting.

   "Dr. Ellis."

   "You guys are friendly," she observed.

   "Yeah, he was friends with my brother, Silas. I haven't seen you in so long. When did you become an EMT?"

   "A few months ago," Wally bowed his head, his hand rubbing at the base of his neck, "Listen, Albs, I'm so sorry I couldn't be there for the funeral."

   "You had a good excuse, bud."

   Appendicitis. He was stuck in the hospital during the funeral. He sent a gorgeous arrangement of flowers and a lovely note.

   "Jem said you made the big move out here. You settling in?"

   "Yeah," I rocked on my heels, "I'm getting there."

   "You're blending in well," he gestured to my name tag, "I'm sure you're holding your own. You're a pro by now for sure."

   "I won't say pro just yet, but I'm doing my best," I said, looking down modestly. More often than not, I still felt like I was drowning in the deep end, but I tried not to stress about it too much. It would all come in time.

   "Well then, you've got them fooled. And me."

   "Don't tell anyone," I joked, "They're only just accepting me as one of their own. No sudden movements and all that."

   "Let's not startle the wildlife."

   "Precisely."

   Wally laughed, his eyes ticking back to his partner as she waited by the doors, "Listen, we need to catch up soon."

   "Totally."

   "I'll see you around, Albs. Don't be a stranger."

   I saluted him as he scurried off, "Good seeing you, Wally."

   "You too!"

   A dizzying feeling hollowed out my stomach, and I fiddled with my necklace. I always welcomed little reminders of my brother, and seeing Wally was a perfect example of him, too. Energetic and friendly. Silas would have been proud.

—

   6 am finally brought the first glimpses of daylight. With only one hour left, Shen pulled me for a consult with a 23-year-old woman suspected of being in a domestic abuse situation.

   "Avery Powers, shoulder dislocation, multiple contusions." Shen informed me as we walked to the patient's room, "Said it was brought on by her boyfriend, but it was an accident. She's been in before, once with McKay and last time with me."

   "Got it." He handed me the tablet, "I'll talk with her, then loop you in."

   "Thanks, Albs."

   I retreated to my office to gather some supplies. Afterwards, my feet automatically lead me to North 5. Outside of the room, I huffed and took a second to breathe and prepare. You got this. When I opened the door, she was sitting on the bed.

   "Hi," I spoke softly, "Avery, right?"

   She nodded, "Yeah. Are you a doctor?"

   I smiled, "No, I'm a social worker for the ER. Alba," I offered my hand for her to shake, "Dr. Shen says you hurt your arm?"

   "Yeah," she shifted uncomfortably, "Uh, I tweaked it. I was with my boyfriend when it happened. Just roughhousing, you know."

   "Is roughhousing normal for you guys?"

   She shrugged, "Not necessarily. We were just joking around. These things happen, you know."

   "Do you and your boyfriend live together?"

   "Yeah, we've been together for 3 years now." She paused, fidgeting with her hands, "We still behave like it's the honeymoon phase. I just bruise easily, you just touch me and I bruise like a peach."

   I waited a moment, watching and gauging how she was approaching the conversation. Definitely closed off, a little defensive, but not hostile.

   "I often speak with patients who are having difficulties in their relationships, which can include physical or verbal abuse. I see so many people that are in these situations, so Dr. Shen thought it would be worthwhile to come talk to you and see if that was in fact your situation, given the circumstances around your being here."

   "Like I said, we were just roughhousing. He grabbed me harder than he meant to, and my arm twisted. It was my fault, really. I'm fine. It was an accident. I'm fine."

   She was very adamant. I wonder who she was trying to convince more, herself or me?

   "My main concern is your safety. As long as you believe you're going home to a safe place, that's all that matters to me."

   Avery's hands stopped moving momentarily. She paused, a brief slip in the facade she was presenting. Then, a breathy chuckle fell from her lips as she shook her head, "Listen, I know how this looks."

   "How do you think this looks, Avery?" I asked calmly.

   "I've been in before, I'm just clumsy. I didn't mean to cause a fuss."

   "Like I said, I'm only concerned about your safety. Hypothetically speaking, in case you didn't feel safe, and you needed to leave... do you have a plan? A safe place to go to?"

   A distant look clouded her eyes. She blinked quickly to rock herself loose, "Hypothetically speaking, I could go to my sister's. It's not too far from here. But it'll never come to that. Really, I'm okay. I appreciate your concern, but truly, I'm fine."

   "Okay, well in the event that something happens, it's good to have a safety plan in place. If you want, I can offer you some resources. You know, for any hypothetical situations that could come to fruition."

   She shrugged her shoulders. I reached into the folder tucked under my arm and handed her a pamphlet.

   "There's a domestic violence clinic nearby," I said. "They offer counseling, legal guidance, safety planning—everything at your pace."

   She stared at the paper like it might bite her. I reached for the white pen in my pocket, "If you want something more discreet, this pen has a phone number on the inside if you twist here. It's a hotline, and you can speak with someone twenty-four hours a day. They can help you schedule an appointment."

   "I don't know if I need all of that."

   "That's okay," I said softly. "It's here if you need it."

   I placed it beside her, "But you deserve to have the option."

   Her eyes fluttered, "He said he was sorry after," she whispered.

   I nodded, "I believe you." That seemed to surprise her more than anything, "he probably says he loves you too." I added.

   A tear slipped down her cheek. I reached forward and squeezed her shaking hands, "But loving someone doesn't mean you have to accept being hurt."

   Silence hung in between us. She hesitated for a long moment, "Have you... do you do this a lot?" she asked.

   "Yeah," I said sadly. "I do."

   "Do people listen?"

   I frowned in thought, "Sometimes. It's up to the person to decide for themselves."

   Avery let out a shaky breath, "How many of them do you see more than once?"

   "More than you think. Sometimes when I see them again, it's too late."

   She nodded slowly, her eyes ticking to the door, then back at me. We sat there for a while. Just talking. Not just about resources—but about her. She was from Kansas, the youngest of four children, loves to cook, just graduated college last fall, and wants to own her own pottery studio one day.

   When I finally stood to leave, she reached for the pen, "You said I could keep this?"

   "All yours."

   "Don't take this the wrong way, Alba, but I really hope I never have to see you again."

   I chuckled, "Me too."

—

   I watched Ellis curiously as she scribbled on a Post-it note. Before I could question her motive for the sudden urge to arts and crafts, she ripped it clean off the pad and smiled proudly. It read: I survived my first week @ da Pitt!

   "A certificate for your accomplishments."

   I swooned and placed it on my chest, "What an honor."

   "You're officially sworn in. How do you feel?" Lena chimed in from my left.

   "Like I've found like-minded-masochistic-crazy-sons-of-bitches."

   "I like your choice of words," Ellis held up her hand to high-five.

   "A poet, if you will."

   "Thank you for gracing us with your presence," Lena offered before shooing us away from her station, "Let's keep the theatrics in the theatre and finish hand-offs so we can all go home and get some sleep."

   It was in jest, but weighted with true exhaustion and a need to be as far away from here as possible and in the comfort of our own homes. Ellis and I turned on our heels to go in opposite directions, but wound up running into each other. She pointed to her left, and I gestured to the left.

   "I'll go this way."    "You go that way."    "Teamwork."    "Great compromising."

   Just a few steps away, I backtracked quickly to Lena, "Oh, hey, one last thing. My mama heard your request, and she is more than happy to make you some empanadas the next time she makes a batch."

   Lena's hands braced against the counter, "Best news all night."

   I scrunched my nose, "It's how she shows her love. She's more than happy to share the wealth."

   "Hell yeah," Shen joined in, "Love a treat."

   "Shen has a sweet tooth?" Jack's voice sarcastically cut through, "Since when?"

   "You're just jealous of my younger metabolism."

   "Don't think that's it," Abbot argued without looking away from his charts.

   "As lovely as today has been," I gathered my things, "I have charting to finish upstairs. If I don't see y'all before I leave, besitos. Until next time."

   A chorus of groaned 'goodbyes' jumbled together as I walked towards the stairs and took the two flights up to the ED's administrative floor. I took a second to slump in my chair. The office did its best to muffle the outside world. The door opened, and a sliver of light disappeared as quickly as it appeared.

   "Roadkill," Kiara announced.

   "I feel like it," I removed my glasses to run at my nose, "Do I look it?"

   She snickered, "Cutest roadkill I ever did know."

   "That's comforting."

   She quietly moved about the space with practiced ease: hanging her jacket behind the door, replacing my empty Tupperware in the fridge with her lunch, turning on the lamp that occupied the corner of her desk. She had her routine down.

   "Alright, roadkill, let's get this handoff started so you can go to bed."

—

   One of the most annoying things about being an adult was having to cook for yourself. Listen, I love to try a new recipe every now and again, but some days getting me to cook a proper meal felt like pulling teeth.

   With that being said, I had to nourish myself, so I begrudgingly drove to the store after my shift. The basket I carried in my hand got progressively heavier as I added more nonessentials to it. It started out with the necessities: a Diet Coke, a pint of ice cream, some fish from the seafood counter, a bag of jasmine rice, some sandwich supplies, and some frozen veggies. My issues arose when I decided to deviate and get some granola... if I could fucking reach it. The bag taunted me, pushed all the way to the back.

   I stepped on the bottom shelf to get some leverage, but my arm was still too short. I even tried to use the box next to it to try to knock it towards me. Not wanting to end up back at work for a stupid injury, I looked around the aisle.

   To my left, a tall brunette with forearm tattoos quizzically looked at a box of protein pancake mix. He had headphones on, and I wondered whether or not to say anything.

   I looked up at the shelf again. Maybe I should try again, I put this much effort into it—

   "Need any help?"

   Thank god.

   "Yes, actually."

   "Of course," he effortlessly reached up and pulled down the bag.

   "Saved me from busting my ass."

   "Glad I could help," he smiled kindly. Light brown eyes met mine— he was handsome. I glanced down at my basket, flexing my fingers to adjust the handle in my palm.

   "Need help reaching anything on the lower shelves," I instantly regretted the bad joke.

   "I think I'll manage," the stranger chuckled, "I'm Eli."

   "Alba," I extended my hand, and he shook it.

   "It's nice to meet you," he scratched at the base of his neck, "You from around here?"

   "No, I just moved here a few weeks ago."

   "Get out, where are you from? Do you like it?"

   "I'm from Texas. And yeah, my family lives here, so that's made the transition easier," I smiled, "Any recommendations?"

   "Depends what'cha looking for?"

   I frowned in thought, "I don't know... cafes or restaurants?"

   "There's a spot not too far from here. My buddy is a chef there. Great for dinner," he insisted, "Maybe we can go sometime."

   "That offer does sound enticing," I smiled, "You're not one of those weirdos that pick up women at the grocery store, right?"

   "I don't make it a habit, no. You're the first." He laughed. It sounded cute.

   "Then in that case, I'm flattered."

   "So dinner? If you're up for it," he shrugged, smiling boyishly, "No pressure."

   I fished my phone out of my pocket, unlocked it, opened the phone app, and handed it to him, "Put your number in. I'll text you when I'm free."

   "I can get behind that," he thumbed in his number and his name, Eli. Grocery store guy :) before handing it back to me, "And here is my number."

ALBA:    Alba. Granola girl :)

   His phone chirped, and he held it up to display the notification, "And now I have yours."

   Eli's smirk cut across his lips, "Looking forward to hearing from you."

. . .

two: first day jitters

. . .

   TWO DAYS PASSED FASTER THAN I EXPECTED. Somewhere between unpacking, attempting to familiarize myself with the local grocery store, visiting my niece, and texting Parker for advice, the reality of the big move set in.

  Holy fuck.

   And the ball didn't stop rolling. It definitely wouldn't from here on out.

   Today was my official first day at PTMC. A day shift to acquaint myself with the job, shadow Kiara, and get administrative paperwork out of the way. According to Parker, my first shift being a day one would help ease me into the chaos— slightly less stressful but still unhinged. Very encouraging.

   One extremely cute text from my niece and a strong cup of tea later, I was posing for my badge picture.

   Afterwards, Kiara and I took the elevator down to the emergency department. She smiled supportively, "How are you feeling?"

   "Anticipatory, nervous, but ready."

   "You'll fit right in."

   The elevator chimed once we hit our floor. The doors opened, and the noisiness from the ER immediately flooded in. Kiara led the way, her pace quick but not rushed.

    "I'm not going to fully throw you into the deep end today. I want you to observe and see how we do things here. It's stuff you're familiar with, but I want you to get comfortable and acquainted with the resources we can offer patients. Maybe you'll take on a light case load or two, depending on how busy things get. You're very smart and capable. I have full faith that you'll catch on quickly."

   I nodded. My eyes scanned the entirety of the room as we moved. The last two ED's I worked for all had a different pace and rhythm to things. Days varied from nights. The flow and hierarchy of everything. Everyone buzzed and hummed at a specific frequency. Learning that rhythm would take time. Regardless, every hospital was still loud and noisy.

   In my experience, days were just slightly more predictable than nights. As we stepped into the emergency department, shift change was in full swing. Night shift was wrapping up while day shift filtered in.

   "Start with the charge nurses first?" Kiara offered, as we were already walking in that direction.

   A tall blonde woman and a shorter redhead laughed quietly to themselves as we approached. Kiara smiled warmly, and they softened, "What can we do for you, Ms. Kiara?" the blonde asked.

   "This is Alba Ruiz. She's joining me on my service."

   "Ah, the new blood. Welcome, kid."

   "I'm Lena, I work nights, and she's Dana, queen of the day shift."

   "Nice to meet you guys." I smiled, "I look forward to working with y'all."

   "We'll see how long that feeling lasts," Dana chuckled, "You worked in an ED before?"

   "I have. I worked in an ED in Austin, then in Houston."

   "Ah, I guess you could say this isn't your first rodeo. Huh, Tex." Dana laughed at her own joke, and I shrugged my shoulders.

   "Something like that." My hands clasped together, and I rocked on my heels slightly, "I'll do my best not to disappoint anyone. Not on my first day at least."

   "Welcome to the Pitt, hon," Lena returned my smile.

"We're gonna get more introductions in," Kiara politely excused us, "Get used to seeing these faces," Kiara hummed, "Faces are easy to remember, names will come with time. If you have any questions, just ask. C'mon, let's go make some introductions."

   I smiled tightly, nervous but not making myself small. A small cluster of doctors conversed over the nurses' station, trading off patients and exchanging pleasantries.

   "Can I borrow a moment of your time?" Kiara asked softly. They instantly listened to her, and their eyes darted back and forth between her and me, "Everyone, this is Alba Ruiz. Newest social worker for the ED. It's her first day, so do her a favor and play nice. We're hoping she'll stick around for the long haul."

   Warmth prickled at the base of my neck. Being under so many eyes felt slightly claustrophobic. My elbow bent and I waved, "I don't scare easily. Looking forward to working with everyone."

   "Pleasure to meet you, Alba," the bearded doctor smiled, "I'm Doctor Micheal Robinavitch, but everyone calls me Robby. This is Dr. Heather Collins R4 and Dr. Cassie McKay R2."

   "Hello."    "Nice to meet you."

    Robby gestured to another man on a computer behind him, "Grumpy over there is Dr. Jack Abbot. He likes to bounce back and forth between sleep deprivation and pulling doubles."

   Dr. Abbot looked up, and recognition was almost instant. He scoffed, a smirk pulling at his lips, "Ruiz."

   "Abbot," I mimicked his candor.

   "You two familiar?" Robby interjected, his eyes bouncing between us over the top of his glasses.

   "We met at Shen's birthday," Abbot was now standing up with his arms crossed over his chest, "She's quite the pool shark. If she challenges you to a game, say no."

   I smiled sheepishly, doing my best to read everyone's expressions, "I plead the fifth."

   "He's just bitter he lost," Parker's familiar voice started behind me and eventually ended up to my left.

   "Or that," I accepted her quick fist bump, "Don't let his disdain sway you. Please come to your own conclusions. I swear I'm nice to work with."

   "His opinions hold no weight here, you're good," Robby remarked dryly, "Welcome to the Pitt."

    He gave a small nod before returning to the monitor in front of him. Kiara nudged my Elbow, "Shall we keep moving?"

   "Sure," I smiled in departure to Dr. Collins and Dr. McKay.

   Ellis held up a thumbs-up, mouthing, "Good luck."

   Jack's eyes tracked my movement just slightly above the top of the computer monitor. I noticed he wasn't trying to hide it. With a subtle two-finger salute, I forced myself to turn away and keep following Kiara.

   The rest of the tour went relatively quickly. Familiar faces from the bar popped up here and there, nurses and doctors alike. With quick hellos, Kiara showed me where behavioural health was, followed by the family and viewing rooms, restrooms, pedes, triage, reception, and chairs.

   I took it all in stride, absorbing the important information.

   "You'll be pulled into a little bit of everything around here," she added while holding the door open for me, "ER social work requires a certain level of flexibility. As I'm sure you are very familiar with."

   "I like flexible, it keeps me on my toes."

   "Good. Hold onto that."

   Eventually, we made our way back upstairs. Our office space was small-ish. Four desks and one window. To be fair, the inhabitants of the glorified broom closet did their best. String lights hung up on the ceiling, and tchotchkes littered the interior. It was homey and warm.

   My eyes scanned over the binders full of resources, each one properly labeled for the situation, and the wall of printed out pamphlets ready to go. Kiara quickly slipped on a jacket and hummed, "Ready for rounds?"

   "Yup," I followed behind her again as we made our way back down to the ER.

   We met up with Sarah, a clinical nurse specialist, and Margaret, a nurse practitioner, to go through the patients to see if they needed our support in any way.

   Our first stop was Mr. Steven Reynolds. 64, unhoused individual with mental health concerns and alcohol abuse. He also has diabetes. He's a bit of a frequent flyer, always kind and respectful of the staff."

   I nodded as she pulled up his chart on her tablet before walking into the room.

   "Kiara!" He announced excitedly.

   "Hello, Mr. Reynolds. How's your Monday morning going?"

   "Gettin' back on track," the man had what I would presume was a Louisiana accent, "My liver hasn't quite caught up with me yet."

   He looked at me and smiled, "And you are darlin'?"

   "Alba. I'm new here."

   "Well, welcome, Ms. Alba. Where you from?"

   "Texas, sir."

   "My former neighbor to the west," he flashed me a wink, "between Monroe and Shreveport myself."

   "I would be remiss if I didn't offer to call a few shelters for you, Mr. Reynolds. Would you like us to do that for you?" Kiara asked, redirecting the conversation to his needs.

   "Eh," he waved us off, "You can try if you must, but they're probably more stuffed than sardines in a damn can. I'll be good sleeping under the stars."

   "How about some hygiene products or clothes then?" Kiara asked.    "That I can do."

   Before we left, she looked over her shoulder, asking if he was still staying around the corner of the old grocery store a few blocks away. He nodded and said it was home.

   "Alright, Mr. Reynolds, we'll be back with some supplies for you, okay?"

   "Okay. Take your time."

—

   By the time the adrenaline from the first hour wore off, we had visited with three patients thus far. I popped to the bathroom with my brief downtime and attempted to find Kiara in the swell of the ER. Turning the corner, I nearly ran straight into someone. Apologies quickly rolled from both of us. The gruff voice was pieced together as I took a step back.

   Clutching my tablet closer to my chest, I smiled awkwardly, "My bad. Still getting used to this place."

   "All good," he adjusted the strap of his backpack back onto his shoulder.

   "Weren't you supposed to be gone by now?"

   "Trying to avoid me?" It was playful— a little jarring. I tilted my head slightly.

   "Not necessarily," I took a smaller step back, suddenly warmer and very aware of how close he was, "Parker and Shen left an hour ago, so just curious."

   His hand tiredly rubbed at his jaw, "Got stuck charting and wanted to ensure continuity of care on a patient."

   "That'll do it," I rocked my weight back and forth.

   Jack's eyes roamed over me quickly, evaluating and assessing, "You surviving so far?"

   "So far. Haven't killed over yet."

   He huffed out a laugh, "We'll see how you feel midway through your shift."

   "That sounds encouraging."

   "A warning. Drink plenty of water and pump your veins with caffeine. Eat snacks when you can. The first shift back after a break is usually tough."

   "Well, thank you for the concern, Dr. Abbot," I nodded towards the hallway, "I gotta head back. Enjoy your beauty sleep, doc."

   His brows knit together, "Does it look like I need it?"

   I smiled and patted his arm as I moved past him, "Only a little."

   A laugh rumbled in his chest, "See you on nights, Ruiz."

   "Until next time, Jack."

—

   By two in the afternoon, I was finding rooms without looking like a lost puppy. I also managed to remember a handful of names. Small wins. The caffeine pumping through my system also helped.

   "Just the person I wanted to see, Alba, right?"

   "Yes," I plugged in the tablet I had with me for a little over an hour and grabbed a new one, "Dr. Langdon?"

   "Correct. I need a consult. You in?" He asked, his eyes scanning me for a response.

   I looked over at Kiara, and she nodded, "Do this one on your own. I'll be nearby."

   I turned on my heels and gave the tall, lanky doctor my full attention. "What are we looking at?"

   "Possible domestic violence situation. A sixteen-year-old boy, Charlie Howl, presented with minor injuries allegedly caused by a fall down the stairs. Bruising on the upper arm and stomach. We are monitoring him to see if there is any further damage internally."

   "And the parents?"

   "Dad didn't come in, and Mom is being looked at by Collins and Perlah in room twelve. I figured it would be best to get his side of the story without any interference."

   "Good call."

   The tall, lanky doctor opened the exam room door for me and stepped aside. Charlie sat in the middle of the bed, his hands cradling his knees, with hunched shoulders. His gaze was fixed on the floor, focused on anything but us.

   "Charlie, I brought in my friend Alba here to ask you some questions, okay?"

    He didn't respond. I spotted a rolling stool and used my foot to drag it towards me, "Hi, Charlie. I'm Alba, a social worker here."

   I sat quietly and approached him cautiously. After a few seconds, his eyes finally looked up at me. Exhaustion and frustration weighed down his entire face. I smiled softly, silently offering kindness.

   "Charlie," He quietly introduced himself.

    "Hi, Charlie. Mind if I ask you a few questions? It shouldn't take too long."

   "Okay."

   "Do you mind running me through what happened?"

    "I already told the doctor."

   I nodded, "I understand that, I just want to get it from your perspective."

   He averted his eyes, "I fell down the stairs."

   "Okay," I set the tablet in my hands down on my lap, "One of my jobs here is to ensure that when patients leave, they have a safe place to go. That includes you, Charlie. Especially since you're a minor."

   He didn't verbally respond; however, his jaw tensed, and he took a shaken breath in.

   "Do you feel safe at home?"

   It was eerily still, especially compared to the controlled chaos outside the door. Scared green eyes locked with mine, "I don't want my mom to get in trouble."

   I moved forward slightly, "I can't help if I don't know what happened, Charlie."

   "I didn't fall."

   My head nodded, and I encouraged him to go on, "Before we go any further, I want to let you know that if you were harmed by someone, I am required to report it."

   Hesitation soured his face, and his palms covered his eyes. I could see the inner conflict as he huffed. Watery, red-rimmed eyes hid for a few seconds before he straightened up.

   "I was protecting her."

   "Who?"

   "My mom," he swallowed roughly, sounding defeated, "She— her and my stepdad argue sometimes. The walls are thin, man. I never knew he was hurting her. I didn't know. I just thought they were getting along. I didn't know how bad it was."

   "What did he do?"

   "He was yelling, so I came downstairs to tell him to shut the fuck up. I saw him push Mom, so I got in the way and pushed him back. He grabbed me—"

   Charlie lifted his arm to show the finger-shaped marks that began to bruise, "—and pulled me out of the way."

   A well-practiced calmness and neutrality encouraged my face not to show how I was really feeling. This part was never easy, and I hope it never would be.

   "When I got back up, he slapped her and punched her in the stomach. I didn't think; I just jumped on him. He elbowed me and then punched me when I fell on my back. Mom threatened to call the cops, so he freaked and ran away."

   I exhaled through my nose, trying to minimize any reaction. I settled for nodding my head and hugging my tablet. My pause must have made him hyperaware of the reality of the situation. He grew antsy, his eyes bouncing back and forth between the door and me.

   "You're safe here, Charlie." I smiled softly, "Thank you for sharing that with me. It couldn't have been easy. Has anything like that happened before?"

   He flexed his hand to stop it from shaking, "Not to me. But as I said, I've heard them yelling before."

"Okay," Slowly, I stood, "Again, thank you for telling me. I'm gonna do my best to help you and your mother out."

   He nodded, his shoulders dropping slightly. Exhaustion took over his expression once more, and he finally lay back.

   I stepped out with Dr. Langdon, and we both released an exasperated sigh at the same time. It's always a hard pill to swallow when it comes to children in abusive situations, and I hate that my brain is hardwired now to think: this could have been worse. It's extremely hard for kids to escape childhood without encountering trauma entirely.

   "Poor kid."

   "Yeah," I ran my free hand through my hair, "I was recently reading a study that gave a conservative estimate that around 40 percent of children below the age of eighteen experience at least one potentially traumatic experience."

   Langdon snorted, replying dryly, "Only 40?"

   A hmph rumbled my chest, and I raised a brow, "Give or take, since most cases don't get reported."

   "What a joyful, fun fact."

   "I'm full of them."

    Langdon's hands reached up to rest on his stethoscope, "Thank you for those pearls of wisdom. I got a patient in triage I need to check up on. Come find me when you're ready to proceed."

   "You got it. I'm gonna go speak with the mom now."

   "Good luck."

—

   "Dr. Collins," I flagged down the elusive doctor. She was never in one place too long, quickly and efficiently moving from patient to patient.

   "Alba," she smiled in greeting.

   "I was working with your patient, Clara Howl's son, Charlie. He informed me that he, in fact, did not fall down the stairs and was assaulted by his stepfather."

   Collins rubbed the tip of her nose with her knuckle, her head shaking slightly, "That explains the oddities in her story. She said she tried to help Charlie as he was falling, but her injuries don't match that."

    "I need to get her side of things. Then, place a report for the abuse Charlie experienced."

   She nodded knowingly, "Alright. I'll go introduce you."

   "Thank you."

   Heather took me to the exam room, holding Clara. Her fingers gently rapped against the door before opening it. "Clara, this is Alba. She's going to ask you some questions. Alright?"

   The redheaded woman mirrored her son's exhaustion. Her gaze was empty, like she wasn't fully present. She blinked a few times rapidly before finally looking up at me. Her arms moved to hug herself.

   "Oh, okay," she was slightly disoriented... shock perhaps.

   "I'm Alba, it's nice to meet you."

   "Clara. Clara Howl."

   "I'm just checking in on you, making sure you're doing alright."

   "I'll manage. How's Charlie?"

   "Charlie is okay. He is in the other room. I think the nurses were giving him jello."

   It was as if I could see the moment she stepped back into her body. Her chest rose sharply, "I should be going soon. My husband is going to worry. I should—"

    "Mrs. Howl, I spoke with your son Charlie, and he brought up some very concerning issues regarding today's events."

   She froze, her expression caught between remorse and defeat. Her eyes shut quickly, and tears instantly started rolling down her face, "God. This wasn't supposed to happen."

   Her ragged breathing turned choppier, and she couldn't catch her breath. She gripped her chest, and both Collins and I instantly moved closer to her.

   Heather gently guided her breathing, even offering her oxygen, "Clara, we are here to help you."

   "I'm sorry. God, I'm so sorry," she whispered, "I'm not this person. I would never put my son in harm's way. Never."

   "We know that, Clara," Collins soothed.

   "Things escalated so fast. Charlie wasn't supposed to— I didn't want him to—" her voice broke. "David. He's never hurt Charlie before."

   With my hand still on her forearm, I took a seat on the stool nearby.

   "Has the abuse been going on for a while?"

   Clara nodded, tears spilling over now, "David gets angry," she hoarsely whispered. "And I just... I try to manage it. Normally, I can rein him in."

   My chest tightened. I reminded myself not to hold my breath, "But tonight was different," it was more of a statement rather than a question.

   Clara covered her face with her hands. "Charlie stepped in." Her shoulders shook, "He shouldn't have to do that."

   "No," I agreed softly. "He shouldn't."

   She looked up, guilt etched into every line of her face. "I feel like I failed him."

   I instantly shook my head, "You didn't fail him. You're here. You're telling the truth. You're prioritizing yours and your son's safety. That's what matters. It's a step towards change. My goal isn't to take your son away or pull a fast one on you guys. What matters now is what we do to protect you and Charlie."

—

Kiara was a fantastic sounding board to bounce ideas off of. She was patient, an amazing listener, and a fantastic supervisor. Many of her mannerisms reminded me of my old supervisor Tanya, when I first started shadowing in the ER. Steady and unwavering, everything you wanted in a patient advocate.

   So, I walked her through everything. Every detail, every statement. Kiara listened carefully, asking questions when they arose.

   "Okay," she said once I finished. "So we have domestic violence, confirmed by both parties, with physical harm to a minor."

   "Correct," I nodded in agreement, "I know I'm mandated to report."

   "You are," Kiara confirmed after dumping the wrapper from her power bar into the trash. "And we will. But we also focus on immediate safety."

   "I'll start with a safe discharge plan. See if she feels safe enough to go home, or offer shelter placement for both if they're open to it." I exhaled.

   "You're handling it well," Kiara added. "Especially for your first day back on the saddle."

    "Thanks," I smiled my appreciation.

   After heading back down, I stopped by Clara's room again briefly to check in. With her consent, I was going to start seeing if there were any shelters that were willing to take them in until law enforcement could get everything settled. She thanked me again for my patience.

   "Anything I can do to help."

   In the hallway, I ran into Collins.

   "Hey," Collins gave me a small, approving nod, "I've been meaning to tell you that you did well in there."

    "Oh, yeah. Thank you."

    "You were calm. Empathetic. Didn't push too hard."

   I smiled faintly, "I used to volunteer at a women's shelter back in Austin. During undergrad."

   "That tracks," Collins said. "You've got the instincts."

   I shifted slightly, still processing the day, "That means a lot. New place, new coworkers, I just want to make a good first impression. I'm good at my job and I just want to be helpful."

   Heather winked, "Believe me, you're starting on the right foot."

   Just as she was starting to step away, she glanced back at me over her shoulder, "Good luck holding down the night shift. You'll be a good anchor."

   I laughed softly, "I hope so. I'll try and do my best."

   "Do or do not. There is no try," Collins quoted with a knowing smile.

   "Yoda?" I questioned, amusement coating my face.

   She nodded, "Just watched Star Wars with my nephew last night. Still fresh on the mind."

   I lifted my hand in offering, and she quickly high-fived it. We went our separate ways, and I felt a little more comfortable.

—

    The next few hours blurred together. There was no true pause or let-up throughout the shift. Just a constant redirection of energy from one patient to the next.

   An unhoused man who needed placement for the night once he was out of triage.

   A young girl was experiencing a rough panic attack as she neared her college decision.

   A family trying to navigate insurance after a heart attack.

    Each case was different, and my brain did its best to keep up. By the time seven rolled around, I was finishing up a consult for Dr. Robby. He was at the hub charting when I approached.

   "All went well, we got a plan sorted out. So when you're ready, they're good for discharge."

   His lips formed a tight smile, "Excellent. Thank you, Ruiz."

  "No problem," I moved to the computer after plugging in my tablet.

   It was quiet for a few seconds. Handoffs were already in motion. Voices overlapped as I gave the buzzing hub a once-over— observing, absorbing. Trying to keep up. My eyes lingered on Robby for a moment longer than necessary. He wasn't unkind... just not overtly warm either. He was very direct, efficient, really. He had the kind of presence that made everyone in a room stand up a little straighter.

   It was quiet for a while, the space between us filled with my typing.

   Without looking up, Robby spoke again, "So pool is your vice, huh?"

   "One of them," I offered, "I swear I won't make it a habit to embarrass your staff, sir."

   Robby's mouth twitched, "Relax, Ruiz. You can drop the sir."

   "Noted," I glanced up. He was looking at me, not in a bad way, but in a you're being evaluated kind of way.

   He chuckled wryly, "Humiliated Abbot and Shen that badly, huh?"

   "Parker and I swept them easily towards the end," I smiled sheepishly, "I have a reputation to uphold."

   "Oh, I'm sure," Robby hummed to himself, "How much did you win?"

   "$200," I admitted hesitantly.

   "Solid earnings." He frowned in approval, "Should have gone for more."

   I tsked my tongue in agreement, "And now I've lost the element of surprise."

   Robby adjusted his glasses to sit higher on his bridge, "Oh, I'm sure you'll manage."

   His gaze flickered past me, then back. I followed his eye-line instinctively— Abbot. Of course, he must have slipped in while Robby and I were busy with our patient.

   He was a few feet away, finishing up something on the computer, posture relaxed but alert in that way that made it seem like he missed nothing... like he had been here the whole time.

   Jack's eyes lifted and caught mine. I cracked a smile, and he subtly nodded his head. After a second, I looked away, pretending to refocus on my notes like it didn't just get a little warmer inside.

   I lowkey forgot Dr. Robby was still there. Right, He made a quiet sound beside me. His hand was resting against his cheek, observing quietly. His brows lifted, "Hmm."    I glanced at him, "Something on your mind, Dr. Robinavitch?"

   "Nope," he said, his lips popping the p.

   I narrowed my eyes slightly, but he was already standing and stepping away, patting my shoulder once as he moved back into the flow of handoff, "Good work today, Ruiz."

   I blinked, a little caught off guard, "Thanks."

   Robby melted back into the crowd. Not that it truly mattered, but it felt nice having his approval— to be seen and recognized for my work.

   Focus, Alba. This is the home stretch. I did pretty well at keeping up with my charting throughout the shift. Kiara was taking on the bulk of cases today, so I only really needed to update a few charts.

   "So, what's the verdict? Did day shift scare you away?"

   Jack approached, his hands tucked in his pockets.

   I smiled tiredly, "Not quite."

   "You're still standing, so that's a good sign."

   "I'm about ready to collapse." My hand tiredly wiped down my face.

   He leaned his elbow on the counter, his head ducking to meet my eyes, "People have been singing your praises. So, you're off to a good start."

   I raised my hands in a quiet celebration, "Yay! Think y'all can handle me on night shift?"

   Jack shrugged, "They've handled worse."

   I laughed, "Well, you have a day to prepare for my arrival. Do your best to survive until then."

. . .

one: fast friends and tequila

. . .

   PARKER WAITED OUTSIDE THE BAR FOR ME, her hands tucked into well-loved jeans.

   "C'mon," she held the door open and laughed, "You look so nervous."

   "Duh, I've never met anyone here besides you."

   "It'll be good. Look, birthday boys over there," Parker held up her hand to wave and flag down the man in question, "Alba, this is John Shen."

   "Nice to meet you." I smiled kindly.

   "Likewise," he extended his hand, and I shook it.

   "Happy birthday, by the way."

   "Thank you. We've all heard good things about you from Ellis. C'mon," he inclined his head, "Let's introduce you to some peeps."

   Near the back of the bar, a group of people claimed what looked to be two tables dragged closer to one another. Chairs were half pulled out with bodies occupying most of the booth seats. Band posters overlapped one another on the walls, and stained glass art depicting different brewers and liquors decorated the tops of windows. The kind of place that had clearly been around for a while and felt lived in.

   John and Parker seamlessly included me in conversation with some friends, doctors, and nurses alike, some friends from outside of work. Introductions blurred together. Names, faces, and kind greetings. All nice, but I'd definitely have to relearn in five minutes.

   Obligatory small talk guided the chatter for a while, where are you from, what do you do, why Pittsburgh... the usual suspects.

   A gossipy half-volumed rant about a radiology tech and some nurses swept the table before some rowdy laughter from the other end of the booth distracted me. Another round was had. Conversations carried. Eventually, it delved into who could beat who at pool and seeing who could guess whatever song was playing on the sound system.

   "Wild Child, The Doors," I scoffed, feeling more at ease with a few drinks in my system, "Too easy."

   "You're a walking Spotify dude." Shen clanked our glasses together.

   "I'll take it as a compliment." A smile spread across my lips.

   "You should," John continued to boast, "If it's not AC/DC, Brittany, or ABBA, I'd have no clue."

   "Look who the cat dragged in. Didn't think you were gonna make it." Ellis called out to someone walking towards our group.

   "You're lucky I'm here," the gruff voice chided, "Happy birthday, man."

   I turned, seeing a salt-and-pepper-haired man clapping Shen on the shoulder. He was taller than I— his shoulders squared off. His eyes scanned the group, a tight-lipped smile greeting everyone in one swoop.

"You're new." It was playful, in jest.

"Abbot, this is Alba," Ellis quickly introduced before returning to her conversation.

   "Nice to meet you," I stood and shook his hand. His rough and weathered hand encased mine. Warm and steady.

   "You too. You can call me Jack."

   Around us, the song switched and Shen stopped what he was doing and looked at me, patiently waiting for me to name the artist, "Boogie with Stu. Led Zeppelin."

   Shen held out his finger silently telling everyone to hold on as he waited for Shazam to load. His fist clenched and he gawked, nearly losing half his drink as it sloshed, "Dude, she hasn't missed one yet."

   Abbot looked a little puzzled but intrigued, "Care to fill me in?"

   "My dad owned a record store when I was younger. John's been quizzing me all night."

   "Sounds like a killer party trick," he mused, his voice low and rough.

   "I've had a bit to perfect it."

   Beneath the dimmed lamp light, I began to see his features a little clearer. His hair had a little curl to it, and stubble lined his jaw. He was very easy on the eyes.

  "I'm gonna get the birthday boy a drink," he jerked his thumb over his shoulder, "You want anything?"

   A little thrown by the offer I frowned in thought, "No. I'm okay. You don't need to."

   Jack's gaze flicked down to the nearly empty glass in my hand and back up to my eyes. His brows ticked up slightly and his hand touched his chest, "You sure? I wouldn't offer if I didn't mean it."

   I bit at the inside of my cheek in deliberation, "I'll take another beer. I'm not picky."

   "You got it," he pivoted and walked towards an awaiting Shen at the bar.

   My eyes lingered for a second, watching him as he walked away. He was nice. Amongst other things but I'm gonna chalk that up to alcohol.

   "You done staring?" Parker smirked.

   My heart jumped and I deadpanned at her, "I wasn't staring."

  "Uh huh. Sure," she looped her arm in mine and tugged me towards her. I thanked the sudden proximity and leaned into the touch.

"Not that it matters, I'm asking purely for scientific and research purposes only," I asked, mild sarcasm guiding my tone, "But," I held out my left hand and wiggled the ring finger, mouthing, "He married?"

Amusement lifted her brows, and she poked at my side, earning a quick swat from me, "I think. His wife passed years ago. I don't know the full story, but yes, he's single. Also a huge flirt. Lives for eye contact. Could be fun for you if you're into that sort of thing. I haven't seen him make a move on someone in the workplace, but harmless flirting? Uh-huh."

"Noted."

The conversation turned to talking about our exes and everyone's horrible dating history. Cautionary tales drift from person to person. Princess, a day shift nurse, shared her most recent Hinge date and how it quickly went sideways when he wouldn't shut up about his ex.

   "Ellis," John called from the bar, "Time to cough it up. You swore we'd rematch."

   Parker looked to where Shen's alcohol filled hands were pointing. The pool tables. She didn't bother arguing. She tossed back the last of her beer and raised her eyebrows at me, "I need a second, you in?"

   I glanced down at my drink, suddenly wishing there was something stronger in the glass, "I haven't played in a while."

   "It'll be like riding a bike. C'mon, I can beat Shen any day, but Abbot will give me a run for my money."

   I shrugged, it could be fun. Parker offered me her arm again and I looped mine around her elbow. Whispering lowly, I turned to her, "Are we playing for money?"

   "The only way I know."

   "Not to brag, but I'm really good at pool. I spent a lot of nights playing with my dad and tíos when I was younger."

   "How good we talking?"

   "I haven't lost a game since I was 19."

   Parker's chin pulled down into her chest, proud and impressed. She subtly held up her fist and I bumped it with a giggle, "Play innocent, let them get comfortable and think they can win."

   "Only way I know how to play."

   "Let's hustle, baby."

   "You two done plotting?" Shen interrupted. His free hand rubbed chalk on the end of his cue.

   "I'm explaining logistics. She's a bit rusty." Parker argued with a wink in my direction.

   "It's all good, Alba. Just remember you're in a room full of strangers and this is your first impression. No biggie."

   "Get out of my partner's head, Shen," Parker grabbed a cue, "All talk from the peanut gallery," she said, blowing off his attempt at intimidation.

   "'Lot of talk coming from the losing side of the table, Ellis." The taunts continued to roll off his tongue.

    "Here, drink up. You look like you need it," Jack placed two beers on a nearby table, a slight cockiness to his words.

   "You're right," I huffed before grabbing the drink, "I can't remember the last time I played."

   I definitely could. It was back home at a local bar when my friend Daisy and her bandmates. We won and got to put our names up on the blackboard just above the bathrooms. One of my prouder moments.

   The break went to Shen. Balls scattered across the felt and the birthday boy picked stripes. Parker "coached" me for a few shots. I missed one intentionally. She sank a few. Then I prepared for my turn again after John missed. Abbot hovered nearby, telling me to widen my stance and adjust my grip.

"That's why it didn't feel right," I glanced over at Ellis, and she nodded her head curtly. With her silent permission, I adjusted my hand placement from an open to a closed bridge. I adjusted my grip near the base slightly and shot through the ball.

The loud crack caught Shen's attention, and Jack stood up a little straighter. The cue ball finished spinning, and I picked the next solid to go for. Another shot. Then another. Clean, precise, and practiced. Parker giggled. And she was not the giggling type.

Behind me, Abbot whistled lowly and shook his head. His eyes narrowed, and he pointed his cue toward me, "Haven't played in a while?" He parroted my words back to me.

"Technically, I didn't lie." I tried.

"I'm drunk. I can definitely say that. But not drunk enough to not realise that this feels like a setup," Shen claimed.

"I think we're being hustled, bud," Jack spoke to Shen but kept his eyes on me.

I made my shot and shrugged sweetly, "You're in my spot."

Jack finally looked down at the nearly empty table. His nose twitched, then scrunched. I tried to place the expression, impressed maybe? One could hope. I gently nudged him aside with the tip of my cue. He took a few steps back, his palms facing upwards, "Please. By all means. Put us out of our misery."

Leaning over the table, I lined up the cue ball and the eight ball and fired. It sank right into the pocket. I stood, sheepishly smiling, "Beginner's luck?"

   His mouth curled, "Amongst other things I'm sure."

"The beer helped." I thought aloud.

Warmth prickled my face and radiated out to the rest of my body. Under the weight of his gaze, I stepped just slightly closer, testing the waters out, "Rematch soon?"

"We'll see," Jack's eyes narrowed again at my coy smile, "Next time you're on my team."

"What makes you think I'd abandon Parker? She's a solid teammate."

"I'm sure I can think of something," he said, sidestepping me to return his cue stick to its place on the wall, his eyes lingering.

"My loyalty isn't easily earned."

Before he could respond, Shen bounced over, offering a congratulatory high five, "Well, Alba, it's not every day that I get hustled by a newcomer. And on my birthday nonetheless."

"I would say I'm sorry, but I'm a very competitive person, and I have to maintain my winning streak." Shen crossed his arms over his chest, "How long of a streak are we talking?"

I sucked air through my teeth, slightly boastful but also apologetic, "Ten years."

"No way," Shen shook his head, very doubtful.

"It's true my tíos taught me how to play."

"Is it wrong that I want to break your streak?" John mischievously challenged.

"You can sure try." My brow rose cockily at the proposition.

Abbot clapped his hands together, "Alright next round is on me."

   "Need help?" I asked, my body already rounding the corner of the pool table.

   Jack inclined his head for me to follow. I took advantage of the moment and let myself give him a full once over. He was muscular in a practical way, not overtly buff. His salt and peppery curls carried all the way around his head and freckles decorated the backs of his arms. He was decently tall and moved in a way that people noticed he was there.

   After my initial assessment, I could confidently say that Jack was handsome, if not the kind of man that makes your head swivel or hands clam up after seeing him. My ex's or past hookups were prettier than him if that made sense. A news anchor or star athlete kind of attractive.

Jack was the other kind of attractive. He was more ruggedly handsome than any of my exes. Older, yes, but still within a socially acceptable range.

So far, it felt like he was the kind that makes you stand up a bit straighter, but still approachable enough to shoot the shit with. The kind that I could play a game of pool with until he suddenly gets a little closer than before and smiles in a way that makes me realize his hotness has, in fact, been there since the beginning, and I've been forcing myself to ignore it since he's my soon-to-be coworker.

Plus, he offered to buy me a drink more than once tonight alone, so that wins him major brownie points too.

Surely there has to be a better, more pragmatic way to ignore the surprising flutter of awareness in my stomach and between my thighs. It's been months since I last had sex... six to be exact... by no means a personal record, but a big enough dry spell for me to ask if this reaction was truly because he was attractive or just because I was lonely.

   "You know, normally I buy a girl a drink before she hustles me."

Maybe a bit of both?

   "Sorry 'bout that, I should've warned you." I chuckled.

   "Great first impression," Jack gently guided me forward into the crowd. His hand gently nudged my shoulder, "You know what you want?"

   "Are mixed drinks on the table?"

    "Sure," he smiled, "If it'll keep you from bruising my ego."

   "Doubtful. I can do that drunk or sober."

    Jack's eyes closed briefly as his hand touched his chest, feigning hurt. Fuck, he was growing on me. My phone buzzed in my back pocket.

   "Your pool shark buddies?" He inquired with a smirk.

    "My sister-in-law." I corrected.

   "What, you hustle her too?" He joked while leaning an arm on the bar.

   "On occasion," I remarked, "she sent me a picture of my niece with the stuffed animal I bought her."

   I tilted the phone for him to see, "She looks like you."

   "For sure. She takes after my side of the family. She's six and already a handful. Allegedly we behaved the same at that age. Apparently, she obtained her sass from me."

   "Allegedly?" He mused.

   "Well, I can't remember that far back so I can't verify whether or not I truly was as bad as they say."

   "Touché."

   "What does she call you?"

   "Tia, Ti-Ti, Albie, I call her stinky she calls me smelly."

   "I've been known as Uncle Jack-Jack, Uncle Jack, and of course Uncle Doctor Captain Space Ranger."

   "Care to explain?"

   "No. It's exactly as it sounds." He chuckled and it rumbled low in his chest.

We made our way to the front of the small crowd that huddled in front of the bartender. Jack ordered three more beers, "And whatever else she wants."

"Tequila soda with extra lime, please." I smiled and leaned against the bar, "Again, thank you."

"Anytime," he mirrored my stance, his eyes giving me a quick once-over.

   "So Texas right? Born and raised?"

   "Yep," I glanced over my shoulder, my gaze meeting his piercing hazel eyes. He was closer than I expected. I smiled, curiously asking, "The accent gives it away?"

   "A little," his nose scrunched, "Why Pittsburgh?"

   "Family. My brother passed recently. Wanted to help out."

There was a pause. Heavy but not weighed down by awkwardness.

   "Sorry for your loss. Couldn't have been easy." It was sincere, genuine. Not an ounce of pity in his cadence, just understanding.

   "It wasn't— isn't I mean. But his people are out here. It was easier for me to make the move rather than having to uproot his whole family you know? He was stationed here, his home was here."

   "He military?"

"Yeah."

   "What branch?"

   "Marines. He was a medic."

   Jack gestured to himself, "Army. Medic."

   "No shit."

"Yup."

Our drinks were set down, and Jack told the bartender to add them to his tab. I nodded my head in thanks and inhaled deeply, a little happy to have ended the brother conversation there for now.

"Alright. Lead the way."

Parker and Shen found empty seats at a high top beside the larger group. People floated around the tables, easing in and out of conversation. Drinks were given to their appropriate recipients as I sipped on my tequila. I felt a tap on my elbow. Jack inclined his head to two free seats at the end of the table, still close enough to Ellis.

"So, you're joining the dark side."

"I am. Mostly nights, but I'll fill in days when needed. My first shift is actually a day shift."

"When?"

"Monday. Honestly, I'm ready to get back. I've been out of work for three weeks now, and I'm kinda going stir crazy. I can't fathom building another piece of furniture."

Jack laughed before taking a sip of his beer, "IKEA blues?"

"Very much so." I squeezed one of the extra lines on my rim into my drink, "I don't do well with quiet. I think that's why I like the ED so much. Never a dull moment."

"We'll see how long you stick with that sentiment."

"Already jaded, Dr. Abbot?"

"Something like that," he mumbled his response, "I can't do quiet either. Gives me too much time to overthink. I like the fast pace and rigor of it all."

"Chaos junkies," I concluded with a tired, almost self-deprecating huff.

Jack's glass rose in a silent cheer of solidarity, "To finding comfort in the crazy."

—

By 12:45 am, the group started to dwindle. Some had morning shifts to worry about, while others were just ready to call it a night. Tabs were paid, and tips were left. The remainder of us shuffled out in a herd, getting in quick goodbyes before piling into Ubers or their dd's cars.

"Guess it's goodbye for now," Jack hummed as he held the door open for me.

"Don't sound too sad."

He snorted, his brow lifting in amusement, "I'm sure I'll find an excuse to buy you another drink."

"I'll hold you to it, Doc."

"Okay, I was able to add a stop to the Uber. It'll drop you off first," Ellis joined us.

"Sounds great."

"He's pulling up. Ready?"

Parker's eyes flashed briefly between Jack and me before chuckling to herself. Jack quickly averted his eyes, favouring the busy street to our left instead of watching whatever expression Parker's face was concocting.

"Until next time, Abbot." She initiated the goodbyes.

Jack nodded, and a tight lip smiled pulled at his lips, "Ellis."

A red Toyota drove up to the curb, and Parker grabbed my hand, leading me to it. I glanced over my shoulder back at the handsome doctor I spent most of my night chatting with, "Don't let the loss keep you up all night."

He playfully rolled his eyes, "I'll do my best."

We got in the car, and the second the door shut, Parker turned to me, "Girl."

"What?"

"Be so for real."

"What?" I asked, still buzzed and slightly confused.

"You're a shameless flirt."

I could feel myself growing warm, "I can't help it."

She buckled her seatbelt and used her knee to bump mine, "To each their own, I'm not here to judge. Plus, he was totally flirting back."

"You said that's just how he is, right?" I brushed off the claim.

"I mean, yeah, Abbot's always that way. But he was smiling a lot more than I'm used to seeing."

I jokingly slapped her arm, "Sure."

"I'm serious," she wagged her eyebrows teasingly, "Have fun. See where it could lead. I could use the entertainment."

"My sex life as entertainment?" I gawked, instantly hiding behind my hands, "I beg, I plead, that we find something more interesting to talk about." "Alright, alright. I'll let it go," Parker looked out the window before mumbling under her breath, "For now."

"Parker," I dragged out the 'r' at the end of her name, wincing at the suggestion.

She held up her hands in surrender, and the car went silent for a few seconds before she threw in one final remark.

"Shen and I have a bet going for full transparency."

Little Things. prelude. one. two. three. four. five. six. ( coming soon. )

. . .

prelude: new beginnings

. . .

    "YOU'VE GOT TO BE FUCKIN' KIDDIN' ME."

   Delayed. Yet again. I drank the last bit of my very watered-down tea and tossed the cup I had been carrying around since my original departure time of 4:30pm.

ALBA:    Delayed again. Departure time is now 7:30pm! I'll keep you updated :)

MAMI:    Okay, babygirl. Love you. I'll let you, Papi, know.

   I locked my phone and wandered the concourse again. After months of meticulously planning, my move to Pittsburgh was actually happening. Or it would be if I could just get on the fucking plane.

   My apartment of four years was officially empty and everything was boxed up as of yesterday morning. I got in all my goodbyes, bittersweet and emotional. This was a big change but one I think I needed. Or maybe I was just feeding into my delusions and hoping this move could fix some things. Only time will tell.

   When my curiosity finally died down and my feet grew tired, I returned to my gate. My eyes scanned the very crowded terminal for an empty seat. I made brief eye contact with a woman who appeared friendly enough. Her dark hair braided, sneakers, an oversized hoodie, and the unmistakable look of someone who had been at the airport for far too long.

"Mind if I sit?" I asked.

"Please," she responded in kind.

As I sat down, a pin clipped to her backpack caught my eye. The logo read 'PTMC'. I hesitated for a second, not wanting to intrude but also not wanting to pass up the opportunity to get personal insight.

"Hey, sorry. I don't want to be a bother to you, but... do you work at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical?"

"Yeah. You know it?"

I smiled and offered my hand, "Alba Ruiz. I'm a social worker. I have a final interview lined up with them on Monday. It's between them and Westbridge."

She cracked a smile before shaking my extended hand, "No shit. I'm Parker Ellis."

"Nice to meet you. If I get the job, I'd be taking over for Kristen in the ED. Mostly night shifts, I think, but helping where I can."

"That's my department. I'm a resident in the ER."

"What are the odds?"

Just then, the gate agent's voice chirped above us again. The mousy older lady apologized before letting everyone know the flight was delayed another hour.

"Can I buy you a drink while I continue to talk your ear off?" I offered sheepishly.

"Can't say no to that." Parker stood, and I led the way to the bar I had passed four times while wondering, "So why Pittsburgh?" She asked.

"My brother was in the military. He was stationed there, met his wife, and then had my niece. But, um, he passed recently, so I'm moving to help out."

Parker's face dropped, sincerity widening her eyes, "Sorry to hear that."

I smiled awkwardly, attempting to alleviate the shift in tone, "Thank you. But yeah, family is the driving force for sure. And I don't mind the change of setting. I could use the shake-up."

"You ever work nights before?" Parker asked between us, taking a seat at the bar and ordering.

"Yes. A few years ago, when I was still under supervision." I laughed, remembering how intensely slow or extreme they could be, "Any advice?"

"I pretty much run off of coffee and spite."

"That'll do it."

"I just keep going. Night shift is a different beast. It keeps things interesting."

   "Oh, I'm sure."

   The bartender sent two glasses down, one tequila soda with extra lime and one beer. I squeezed the green wedge into my glass and bit at the pulp. The bitter tang did wonders for my tiredness. Parker raised her glass and motioned a cheers.

   "To a fresh start," she offered.

   "Precisely."

   After taking a quick sip, I fiddled with the chilled glass in my hand. With a newfound warmth, I felt more at ease, "How about you? What brings you to Houston?"

Parker frowned, saying it wasn't anything too interesting, just that she was visiting family, "My mom and stepdad moved here a few years ago. I try to come see them when I can."

   "That's nice. Were you here for a while?"

    "Nah. A few days, just a quick trip."

"Still must be nice to get away from the chaos for a bit, right?"

She shrugged, "Yes and no. I like it, it's unexpected. It's—"

"Addicting?"

"Kinda yeah," Parker nodded, "It's weird."

"I share the same feeling."

    Parker was great company. She was funny and actually carried on a conversation, though I quickly got the hint that she wasn't a fan of small talk. We bypassed the typical pleasantries and delved a little more into our personal lives without the need for fluff.

It was refreshing to be honest. In my job, I'm meant to gather as much as possible on a person and that means separating much of the filler from facts. It was nice to cut around all the bullshit and just talk.

By the time they called boarding, we had exchanged numbers.

"Text me when you land," Parker said.

"I will."

"And seriously—if you get the job, I'm claiming you as my friend first."

I laughed.

"Deal."

—

   Parker and I became fast friends. By the end of my first week in Pittsburgh, it felt like we had known each other for years. She had taken me out to a sports bar she frequented to watch the Pirates play the Marlins.

   Turned out that she went to UCLA for med school just around the same time I went for my grad program. Stories were shared and memories were recounted. Both of us had a habit of getting into trouble or rather trouble found us.

     We met up again after my final interview. I told her I'd accepted the position and my first official day would be next Monday. We celebrated with tequila shots and pizza in my half-assembled apartment afterwards. It was easy talking to her. Maybe I should thank my lucky stars cause she's made this entire process ten times easier.

   As my second week rounded to an end, she texted me on Friday night.

PARKER:    You busy tomorrow?

ALBA:    Depends. Why?

PARKER:    A co-worker is having a get-together at a bar. Super lowkey and chill. You should come

ALBA:    You sure I won't be imposing?

PARKER:    You won't cause I'm inviting you. It'll mainly be people from the ED

ALBA:    Exactly, I won't know anyone. I literally start in like two days

PARKER:    That's why you gotta come. Pre-game your coworkers

   I laughed, she did have a point. My hesitation prompted a quick follow-up.

PARKER:    Girl, I know damn well you're just unpacking or doing laundry or whatever the hell else. Come! I'll buy you a drink 👀

ALBA:    lol you really know how to lure me in

PARKER:    I can be very persuasive ;)

ALBA:    Don't get a big head

PARKER:    So is that a yes??

ALBA:    Yes, but if I don't have any clean underwear from Monday it's your fault

PARKER:    Let her breathe girl!

Silence and being idle are detrimental to who she is and how she operates. Organised chaos she can handle; she handles it better than most.

The only time sitting still and silence doesn't bother her is when she's with her patients. In that environment, she's the perfect image of calm and collected. People innately trust her. She prides herself on that— wears it like a badge of honor. Growing up, her sister always told her people would try to take advantage of her kindness: "Don't let them take it from you."

Throughout her life, she's held strong to her beliefs and continues to value human decency. People make people. Not the loss or tragedies that surround them. Pain and how people perceive those in pain isn't and shouldn't always be the determining factor that swings someone one way or the other on the morality scale. Love and truly understanding that those around you are trying should be a guiding light. Never fear or hate.

Social work and advocacy just felt right for her. Social workers have a larger impact than people very rarely recognise. Alba can recall every social worker who's helped her at some point in her life thus far.

Mr. Lance, her high school's social worker who encouraged her to join the field.

Jennie, the oncology nurse case manager who sat with her family when her older sister passed.

Meredith, the social worker at the VA who helped her sister-in-law with resources when her brother died.

Lucia and Tanya, her supervisors throughout her training.

Every one of them has helped shape her into who she is today. Grateful, she is beyond grateful for each of them. Alba can only wish to be that for someone else. To have helped, to have listened, to have done something good.

. . .

ALBA MAE RUIZ social worker. albie. taurus. tea drinker. patient. talks. sun. warm. bakes. youngest daughter. cherries. rain. persistent.

JACK ABBOT doctor. jackass. capricorn. coffee drinker. direct. listens. moon. cold. cooks. oldest son. apples. cloudy. stubborn.

THE INTIMACY OF BEING UNDERSTOOD AND SEEN forehead kisses. acts of services. quality time. endless drive safe's. random pulse checks. hugs from behind. forearm squeezes. tenderness. observing.

. . .

( the playlist. )

Listen before I go . . . Billie Eilish The Fear . . . Pulp I'm so Tired . . . Fugazi Drown . . . The Smashing Pumpkins

Matilda . . . Harry Styles Clay Pigeons . . . Michael Cera I Don't Want To Be Okay Without You . . . Charlie Burg Waiting room . . . Phoebe Bridgers I Believe in Anything . . . Wol Parade Dear Soulmate . . . Laufey To Be Loved . . . Adele Rivers and Roads . . . The Head and The Heart Landslide . . . Fleetwood Mac I've Got Dreams to Remember . . . Otis Redding St Augustine . . . Briston Maroney La Lune . . . Billie Marten

Changes . . . Charles Bradley Shake it out . . . Florence + the Machine Open My Door .  .  . Alice Phoebe Lou My Moon My Man . . . Feist The Only Exception . . . Paramore Like Someone In Love . . . Chet Baker I Love You (For Sentimental Reasons) . . . Nat King Cole Anytime . . . Eddie Arnold Do I Wanna Know? . . . Hozier Andante, Andante . . . ABBA More .  .  . The Greeting Committee When Will I Be Loved . . . Linda Ronstadt Paper Roses . . . Loretta Lynn

THIRTY NINE.

RETURN

WAKING UP WITH ACHES AND PAINS WAS NORMAL. Soreness was a familiar friend, and exhaustion was an ex you just couldn't shake. When I rolled over, Mick was sitting in the armchair. A beer bottle was already in his hand, and five empty ones cluttered his feet.

   "Did you at least try to get some sleep?"

   The pyro grumbled, "Nope."

   "Mick, you can't survive on beer and spite alone."

   "It's gotten me this far."

   My eyes narrowed, not at all approving of his poor life choices. Hell, who was I to judge? I had spent my fair share of nights at the bottom of endless bottles. It's one thing to do it to yourself, but it's another to see someone you care about go through it. Mick caught the disapproval and set aside the newly empty glass.

   "Besides, who can sleep with you hogging all the covers?"

   I scoffed, feigning disgust, "Oh, please, you never sleep with the covers on."

   Mick bent down and pressed his knee into the mattress. He lay down on his back, his arm resting beneath my head just on top of my pillow. My body pulled into his, and his hands lazily pushed into my hair.

   "First thing in the morning, and you're already giving me lip."

   "You like it," I hummed as I nuzzled into his side. Mick melted into the touch and closed his eyes.

   I did the same.

   In truth, I didn't get much sleep either. Leonard's eyes, as we said goodbye, lingered in my vision. I imagine Mick was feeling that tenfold. When the day's tensions came to an end, and he stumbled his way half-drunk already into my room, I didn't pry or try to get him to talk.

   I knew he felt uncomfortable anytime I brought up something emotional. Concern to Rory was like wearing an itchy sweater. He hated it. He despised pity in any form; it wasn't something he was used to giving or getting.

   "Thank you," he mumbled after a few minutes.

   "For what?"

   He didn't respond. Gideon's echoey tone cut through the previous silence. The Waverider jumped to Star City in 2016, and everyone was to report to the bridge immediately. Lazily, and without rushing, we changed, and I blinked to the bridge, leaving Rory to walk off his bubbling hangover.

   Rip rambled for a bit as we made our way to the cargo ramp and outside to the spot he originally picked us up at. Annoyed by the Captain's secrecy yet again, I asked why we were back in 2016.

    "Savage has a timeship, courtesy of the Time Masters. The timeline is unclear, given our destruction of the Oculus, meaning Savage is lost to history. Which is why I brought you all home."

   "Missions not over, man." Jax countered almost immediately.

   Ray piped in, agreeing and saying that while we've lost Savage before, we can find him again.

   "Then what? We have no way of killing Savage, particularly now that Kendra and a Carter are in his possession, assuming that they're still alive, which is highly unlikely."

   "So that's it? We— we just give up? Kendra and Carter deserve better than that." I quipped.

   Avoidance was a skill our Captain had mastered at this point. Choosing to redirect the conversation, he told us he was on his way back to the refuge to get our younger selves and return them to the timeline. A collective disdain rolled over the group.

   Sara spoke, "What, you think that we can just return to our old lives, and then pretend like none of this ever happened?"

   Rip's lips pulled to the side, and he bowed his head slightly. Here came the catch. His guilty eyes glued to the floor, "That's the thing. I had to bring you back to May 2016, not January 2016."

   Jax scoffed, "Great, so what you're saying is that for the last five months, my mom probably thinks that I'm dead. Thanks a lot, man."

   "Why the change of plans, Rip?" I asked.

   His gaze didn't budge from the ground. The sudden lack of eye contact and his allusiveness urged Mick to size up the Captain.

   "If you're getting back on that ship, we get back on that ship," Rory poked his finger into the Captain's shoulder poignantly. As soon as Mick made contact with Rip, he glitched and momentarily became pixilated.

"In truth, I never left it."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I stepped forward and flicked my thumb and forefinger. Another round of colorful lines consumed Rip's body as the WaveRider began to lift off the ground.

   Shame and guilt battled for the forefront of Rip's words as he apologized, "I'm sorry for all that I've asked of you, and that it all came to nothing."

   His hologram wished us well before completely disappearing. The WaveRider's engines roared, and for a second, I thought about jumping to the Bridge to slap the Captain for giving up.

   That thought was squished when the ship blasted off and disappeared. Beside me, Mick grunted, "I never liked him."

   "So now what?" Ray's palms turned upwards as he shrugged.

   "We go our separate ways, Pretty," Mick suggested with a smirk.

   Martin's jaw slacked, and he scoffed, refusing to give in to defeat, "This is preposterous. We are a team, for the Captain to think otherwise—"

   "C'mon, man. Rip made his decisions as he always does, selfishly and on his own. I'm going to see my mom," Jax walked away, and the professor let his arms fall in defeat by his side.

   "Marty? You off to Clarissa?" I asked.

   "What other choice do I have?"

   "Whoa. Don't make it sound like a chore."

   "Of course it's not. I just mean. This can't be it. Can it?"

   "Appears so, Professor. Don't let the door hit you on the way out." Mick stepped closer to me, and Martin excused himself. Ray quickly followed the Professor, suggesting they could all catch a ride into town together.

   I turned, pressing my finger into Mick's chest, "Forever the instigator," my tongue tsked, "Bird, where are you off to?"

"Home, probably. I need to pay my family a visit. Maybe see what Oliver is up to," her hands stuffed into her back pockets, "We'll catch up?"

   I nodded, "Of course. Enjoy their company."

   She smiled, "Will do. I'll call if I need you. Go see your brother, Xo."

   Sara squeezed my arm and headed off towards the main road.

   "She's right. You should go see your brother," Mick's suggestion pulled me back to look at him.

   "Given the circumstances here, I just thought that maybe I should—"

   "Don't worry about me," he cleared his throat, "You need time with Danny. Don't worry about me."

   I stepped forward, invading his personal space, "I can multitask."

   Mick lifted his brows and attempted to suppress his smirk, "I'm sure you can."

   I gave him a small, steadying look-- a brief checking in without words. He softened slightly, a look only reserved for us when we were alone.

   "Go be with him. I'll be fine here."

   For all his gruffness and blatant grumpiness, I could see the weight in his eyes. He'd of course deny any findings on my behalf.

   "You sure?" I asked quietly.

   He thought about it. A deep frown pulled at his lips, then he struggled, "Yeah. Go. I'm also gonna go do some stuff you won't necessarily approve of. I need to be alone. For now. Please."

   Please. Mick Rory never really asked for things. And if he did, he never asked politely. I nodded. Gently, I pressed myself into his chest. Heavy arms draped around me.

—

   A phone call and a quick Google search later, I blinked at Danny's house. The house was different than the image online. It was painted blue instead of yellow, and the rose bushes in front of the porch had more life to them. It was a cute family home. Prickles of nervousness stung my palms as I knocked on the door.

   "Coming!" Danny's muffled voice called from a distant part of the house.

   His face peeked through the window beside the door, a smile pulling at his lips. Locks turned, and he fumbled to turn the knob. Relief mixed with anxiety at the sight of him. Thankful to actually see him, no longer a fuzzy memory.

   "Xo," he pulled me into a hug, "Come in!"

   I quickly reciprocated, laughing into his shoulder. Flour transferred from the apron on his chest to my shirt. My brows knitted together, "Whatcha making?"

   He quickly glanced down at the mess and brushed it off, apologetically ushering me inside, "Jas insisted on making cupcakes when she heard you were coming. Hence the flour. She's much cleaner than I am. Hey, Jas! She's here!"

   I felt out of place. Suburbia and domesticity were so foreign to me. Their home felt lived in, memories coated the walls in pictures and Tchotchkes. Danny continued into the living room, kicking discarded socks closer to the couch and haphazardly folding a throw blanket.

   A curly-haired, honey-skinned woman stepped out of the kitchen. She had kind eyes-- warm and inviting. A wide grin spread on her lips, "It's so nice to finally meet you. I've heard tons about you."

   I reciprocated her excitement and joined them in the kitchen. They moved around each other with practiced ease and sat me down in their breakfast nook. Pride swelled in me; he deserved this.

   "You want whipped cream frosting or buttercream? Jas can make both."

   "Whichever you want. I'll gladly eat either."

   "Whipped it is. It's my favorite," Her tone was light, inviting.

   The prickling in my palms intensified. I just watched them interacting. It felt like I accidentally stepped into someone else's life— which I had, but it was an odd feeling since it was so parallel to mine. I wasn't a stranger to people watching; I was trained to observe, learn, and mimic. This hurt... seeing the life I was meant to be a part of.

   Life kept moving for him in a completely different direction than my own. The version I knew of Danny was a sick child. A kid who wanted to be loved. Someone who loved toy cars, who always wanted a dog and wasn't allowed, someone who would have gladly eaten pizza every night if he could. A kid. Now, he's a grown man with a wife and a home to call his own. Healthy and alive. So far removed from the pain and suffering I knew firsthand. He made it through.

   This version of Danny was softer. He smiled a lot. It was no longer an occasional reaction I'd have to pull out of him. He gave them away freely and wholeheartedly now. A strange mixture of pride and something heavier, something more fragile and private, coiled in my chest. I swallowed hard, feeling myself getting emotional.

   "What's next for you?" Danny's questions tugged me from my suffocating thoughts.

   "Not sure. I can see Rip's last attempts blowing up in his face. I doubt the Professor is gonna let this go, so... time will only tell, I guess."

   "You know... You don't have to run anymore." It was a gentle suggestion, the beginning of a proposition. "You could settle down." Enjoy a quiet life for a change... stay here."

   Danny finally sat down in front of me, "We've missed out on so much time together, Xo. I want to get to know you. Like, is your favorite color still red? Are peanut butter cookies still your vice? Do you still hate green beans?"

   I took a beat to respond; his earnestness was appreciated. It was an olive branch... a reminder of the life I was meant to have before it was stolen from me. Why did I feel so out of place then?

   "I still like red, peanut butter cookies are in fact still my favorite, and yes, green beans are horrible and should be avoided."

   He smiled, "Good."

   "How about you? Still avoiding the color orange?"

   "Oh, at all costs. Hate it."

   I returned his laughter, "Aquariums still your favorite?"

   Disbelief tugged at his face, "Is that really a question?"

   "Give me your hand."

   A mischievous glint appeared in his eyes. There he was. Danny called over his shoulder, "Jas, be back in a second!"

   Without having to think much, I blinked us to a remote area of an aquarium in Georgia.

   "I came here a lot while I was running. I didn't know why, but I always enjoyed going to different aquariums. It wasn't until I remembered that you liked them that it started to make sense. It let me blend in and just be around people without having to do much. The whale shark is around here."

   "Shut up." Danny gladly followed my lead, "Xo."

   I dragged him to the front of the massive tank. Blue hues dance around us. The water's movement warped and distorted the aquatic life moving within. Oddly calming. It was absurd how quickly the large tanks silenced my brain.

   Beside me, Danny's eyes were wide, excited, and earnest; something about how juvenile he looked in an instant punched straight through me.

   His hand squeezed mine. Firm and grounding.

   I could feel my throat tense, and my eyes burn. Danny was here. Really here. Warm brown eyes hugged me.

   "I'm really happy we found each other again." his words were sincere. Weighted like lead. Wishful thinking turned reality: "We made it."

   The abruptness with which my emotions overwhelmed my practiced calm startled me. Danny so easily disarmed the walls I perfected.    A hot tear ran down my cheek, and I wiped it away. Slightly embarrassed, I cleared my throat and rolled my shoulders back. A quick smile masked the sudden swell of unnamed feelings, causing the ache in my chest.

   "Me too."

   We stood there for a few more minutes. Anchoring one another with each other's presence. While I was forced to forget Danny, he was haunted by the idea that I was dead.

   Danny was my opposite in many ways. He was light. Literally and figuratively. Tall, charming, and likeable in every way. He'd manage to get the Cygnus guards to give us more food and transport us with a gentler hand. People just liked him. I had to earn that. I was prickly, whereas he was always soft. I tried to be like him— more gentle and kind. But kindness didn't help me survive.

   "I love you."

   The endearment was quiet, just for us. I could feel warmth growing from his palm to mine. Dim slivers of light glowed in our enclosed hands. He squeezed my palm, and I reciprocated the gesture.

   "Love you too."

   Across the room, two siblings looked at us in awe. One boy, one girl. They looked down at their own hands, seeing if theirs would glow too.

—

   I was stupidly optimistic to think the team's sabbatical would last longer than a few days. Sara called, saying the boys had found a way to contact the WaveRider. They were going to meet up at the spot Rip had ditched us to try out the devices. She sounded curt; her voice was flat and matter-of-fact.

   "Bird? You good?"

   "No," There was no emotion behind her statement. It was flat and direct: "You need to get back to Star City now."

   "Okay. But you gotta give me more info than that." I asked, suddenly aware of what that tonal inflection could mean, "What happened? What changed?"

   "I just— I need to get back on that stupid ship. And I need you there."

   "Wanna talk about—"

   "—Noon. Be there."

   The line went dead. Fuck. Behind me, in the threshold of the back door, Danny watches. Concern knit his brows together, "That was quick."

   "I have to go back," it came out apologetic, "The team—"

   "—Needs you. I know." He sighed, a knowing smile crossed his lips, "If you stayed here any longer, you probably would have gone stir crazy."

   I wanted to disagree with him, but we both knew it was true, "Staying still isn't my strong suit."

   "Go be a hero, Xo," he walked out into the backyard to join me in the sun, "We'll be here when you need a break."

   "I'm sorry," it was truthful, painfully so.

   "I know. But you do good when you're out there."

   "I try."

   "Better than most."

—

   Goodbyes used to be easy for me; to be honest, someone should have considered themselves lucky if they earned one from me. I'm used to keeping them quick and simple, leaving all emotions out of it. Unfortunately, saying goodbye to Danny wasn't easy... it probably wouldn't ever be.

   Promises were shared, and I blinked back to the empty parking lot Rip left us in. My arrival was a little later than anticipated, so by the time my black shadows melted into the ground, the ship whirled loudly above us.

   "Just in time!" I shouted above the roaring engines.

   "Xo!" Palmer greeted excitedly.

   "Excellent timing, Ms. Luna," The professor agreed.

   My eyes found Sara, stoic and mute. Just as my gaze landed on her, hers were piercing the man of the hour. Rip sauntered out of the ship already heated, "I thought I made my intentions perfectly clear."

   "And we wish to be equally clear about ours," Martin declared.

   Roughly, Mick shoved the Captain. He gawked at the burly pyro, "Do you mind?"

   Rory grumbled, "Just checking to see if you're real this time."

   I snorted. Jax interjected, corroborating his reasoning, "You're not ditching us again. When the mission's over, then we can all go our separate ways."

   "And that mission is not over," Martin argued.

   "Just out of curiosity, how has finding Savage on your own been?" I asked, mainly just wanted to see how bad he has been doing without us.

   Rip huffed, answering rather quickly, "None. But neither have I got myself into bar fights in 1975 and the Old West, put dwarf star technology into the hands of terrorists, or gotten myself turned into a scary bird monster."

   "We get your point," Mick's voice quickly put Rip's argument to rest, "Now get ours. Those ships are not taking off without us. You got that?"

   Rip stopped, his head ticking to the side. He gave in rather quickly. I smiled, mildly amused by his noticeably darker circles and bags beneath his eyes. He needed us whether he wanted to admit it or not.

   "What, Hunter? Cat's gott'cha tongue?"

   "Funny, Ms. Luna."

   Like ducklings, we followed Rip back onto the ship. I blinked into the parlor and waited for everyone to catch up. Rip's nagging continued, only stopping when Sara decked him hard across the jaw.

   "Whoa," I stood up to my full height and immediately closed the distance between us.

   Okay, clearly I was right about the vibes I caught earlier. I moved the flank of her left, quickly assessing everyone. Her knife pressed against Rip's throat, threatening. He swallowed roughly under her piercing stare.

   "You knew." She bit out bitterly.

   I took a step closer to her, wanting to assess the situation properly and keep a level head. That being said, I was all for punching Rip. Most of the time, he deserved it.

   "You dropped us off five months later because you knew."

   "Knew what, Bird?"

   "You knew that Laurel was going to die, and now you're going to take me back. And I'm gonna save my sister."

   Rip breathed heavily, "I'm afraid that that's—"

   "You should be afraid."

   Tension and silence gripped the room. She flexed her fingers, and the blade glistened briefly as it caught the light. Rip swallowed again, his eyes bouncing back and forth between Sara's.

   "I can't allow—"

   Sara smacked the wall behind the Captain's head, "I don't care about the timeline." Her declaration was sharp and clear.

   Rip shut his eyes as she told him he was going to take her back. Ray spoke up, "Look, Sara, I'm sure there's a valid reason why Rip didn't—"

   "Stay out of this!" She yelled at Palmer over her shoulder.

   Before I could register what he was doing, Rip raised the inhibitor he used to knock people out. The electric blast blinded her, and she quickly went limp. I caught her body, shouldering her weight to sit more comfortably. The knife in her grasp clanged to the floor, and I kicked it towards Rip.

THIRTY EIGHT.

NO MORE STRINGS

[ Vanishing Point, Oculus Wellspring ]

   THE TIME MASTERS ARE ASSHOLES, especially Druce. He and a large squadron stood between the Wellspring and us. We had just disembarked from the WaveRider when he and his men appeared. Ray grumbled, stating that we had walked into a trap. Druce declared smugly that it was destiny.

    Rip's forehead furrowed as he looked down upon his old colleague. He chastised him for all that he had done, "All your posturing. All your claims about doing what's best for the timeline, about protecting history, and it all comes down to cold-blooded murder."

   "The difference between murder and execution is only a matter of authority. I have it. You don't. Kill them."

   Weapons hissed alive around us, aiming to line their shots. Before they could unleash their rain of fire, a shadow loomed above us. Lasers danced around us and quickly disposed of Druce's men.

    The jump ship landed, and out walked Jax. He smiled proudly and waved, "Hope I'm not too late!"

   Beside me, Stein's entire body relaxed at the sight of his partner, "No, Jefferson, you're right on time."

   Without missing a beat, their hands collided, and they merged in a swirl of fire and heat. Jax's cloudy white eyes met mine, and I smiled proudly, "Glad to have you back, kid."

   "Good to be back."

   "We need to get to the Oculus before reinforcements arrive!" Rip announced.

   The captain led the way through a shadowed tunnel. The Wellspring sat in the center of the room with a small catwalk to its core. Ray strode up to a latch and opened it to reveal the inner workings of the device.

   "It'll take about two minutes to figure out how to self-destruct this thing."

   Rip eyed the group and split us up, "We'll buy you some time. You lot guard the door. Mr. Rory, you're with me."

   I nodded in understanding and followed behind Snart, Sara, and Firestorm. Not having Kendra around felt odd, like we were an open wound waiting to be mended. We all functioned well separately, but we needed our team whole.

   The second our feet touched the pavement outside, a wave of lasers fired on us. I grunted and waved a hand across my chest. A wall of black fog divided us from them. As Snart fired blindly into the void, I blinked Sara and I behind the unsuspecting men.

   Our attacks were quick and brutal. Snart and Firestorm kept their distance and took care of stragglers. With one final smack to the back of the head with her batons, Sara knocked out the last of Druce's men.

   "We're leaving!" Rip appeared, out of breath. He was alone and cradling his pocket.

   "Where's Mick and Palmer?" I asked hastily.

   "Ray is in my pocket, and Mick has elected to stay."

   "What, why?" Snart questioned before I could.

   "Because someone needs to be present to destroy the Oculus. Mick has elected himself."

   Without hesitation, Leonard ran back into the warehouse. I quickly followed and blinked myself to the island above the Oculus. A new wave of soldiers arrived on Druce's behalf and flooded the other entrance. Mick and I dodged fire behind the console. A few seconds later, Sara and Snart began shooting back.

   "What are you doing?" I asked with wide, confused eyes.

   Through gritted teeth, Mick huffed, "I'm not going."

   "Of course you are. C'mon." I moved to grab his shoulder, and he shrugged me off.

   "I can't. I have to keep my finger on this thing."

   "Why?"

   "Palmer said so. Now go. Before this thing blows."

   "Mick." I harshly whispered his name. His eyes finally met mine, and there was a sense of finality, like he had already come to terms with what was going to happen. This was ridiculous; there has to be another way. I took a second and quickly evaluated the components of the machine, "I can hold it."

   "No," it was curt and immediate.

   "Yes I can. I can hold it then jump back to the ship."

   "It's too risky." His voice had dropped when I moved closer.

   "Mick, I can-"

   "No. The team can't risk losing you. You are a valuable asset; you hold them together."

   "What about Snart? Huh? You think he'll forgive me if I let you do this?"

   Just then, his winter coat-wearing partner's heavy footfall rumbled the ramp behind us, "Mick, it's time to go."

   "Get out of here!" Rory grumbled angrily, his shoulder moving me aside.

   "Not without you."

   "Pretty boy says I have to hold the stick, so I'm holding the stick. I'm not going to say it again, leave!"

   A laser blasted inches from my head. I whipped around and released a darkened coiled spiral of smoke from my hand. The assailant went down quickly, and the rest of the guards in the room began to dwindle out.

Thunk.

  I quickly turned on my heels to see an unconscious Mick at Snart's feet. My heart dropped. Leonard now had his finger on the failsafe.

   "Get him out of here!" He sharply told Sara.

   His expression hardened, and her fist clenched, "No."

   "Just do it."

   For a second, there was silence, an understanding, then an acceptance. She stepped towards him, and their eyes locked for a long moment. Her hand gripped the inside of his arm, and they kissed. My gaze dropped until she moved away, to allow them a sliver of privacy. I crouched down by Mick's shoulder and turned him to lie on his back.

   "Xo, we gotta go," Sara's voice was pressed as she spoke, like she was trying to hold back tears.

   "You're kidding, right?" I looked straight past her and right into Snart's eyes, "This is ridiculous, there has to be another way."

   "I'm not asking you to leave, I'm telling you to leave."

   My lips formed a tight line, and I dropped my chin, refusing to come to terms with what this meant for everyone: "Mick needs you."

   Leonard's eyes trailed over Sara and me as if he were memorizing something. Then, he looked down at his partner. Snart's throat bobbed as he took a deep breath in, "I'm not getting out of this one, Kitty."

   A deep, heavy void weighed in between all three of us, and we sat in it for a second before more gunfire drew us back to reality. An absoluteness in Snart's eyes stared back at me and pinned me to the floor. There was no time to argue, he knew, and I knew.

   It was a curiously odd feeling to see everyone fighting to be the one left behind. Not out of want, but a need to save the team. To spare everyone else. My eyes begged and pleaded with Snart.

   "You've made up your mind," it came out as a statement rather than a question.

   "I have."    "What do I tell him?"    "Mick will get over it."    "Snart."    "What is it you two are always saying? No more strings? Cut me loose. I can take it."

   I quickly stood and closed the small distance between us. My arms wrapped around his middle and hugged him from behind. With a quick kiss to his cheek, we exchanged somber glances. I couldn't bring myself to speak; words were ceasing to form in my head, and I couldn't move... not until Sara's hand pulled me away.

   Leonard Snart was a pain in the ass, but he was a member of this team. A good friend. My knees bent, and I bent down to grab Mick's shoulder. Without breaking eye contact with Snart, I reached for Sara's hand and intertwined our fingers. With a sharp nod towards our teammate, I blink the three of us away.

   As we appeared back on the ship, the image of Snart imprinted in my vision and his outline lasted a few seconds before completely fading away. Sara watched the rapidness of my pupils, and she squeezed my hand, "Don't. Don't go back. I can't lose both of you."

   My head bobbed up and down, and I pulled her into a hug, "I'm sorry."

   "I'm sorry too."

   I hated crying in front of others, but I couldn't stop the tears that fell from my eyes. They were hot as they streamed down my face. I could hear motion behind us. Martin and Jax asked where Leonard was. Sara stood and addressed the group as I moved back to Mick once again. He slowly came back to consciousness. Confused eyes looked around the room, and the second he remembered what had happened, he moved to stand.

   "That bastard." He mumbled lowly.

   "Mick."

   "It was supposed to be me. Why would he do that?"

   "I tried to stop him."

   A jumble of different emotions contorted Mick's face. His heavy brows met, and he scowled, "We have to go back. We can blink him here."

   As the suggestion rolled off the pyro's tongue, the ship shook with the explosion of the WellSpring. Mick stopped dead in his tracks, and his entire body went stiff. His expression dropped, and it mirrored that of Chronos. Hardened and shut off. Devastating silence blanketed the group.

   "I'm sorry, I tried to get him out."

   Nothing came from Mick in response. He turned his back to the team, and I cautiously stepped closer to him. Apologies quietly left my lips as I came closer to Rory. My arms wrapped around his middle, and I pressed the side of my face into his chest. He didn't hug me back, but he didn't push me away either.

   Behind us, Ray spoke, "He traded his life for ours. He was a hero. Which I'm pretty sure is the last thing he wanted to be remembered as."

   Hero. The word tensed Rory's lower back. He moved abruptly, his hand gently patting my arm, "I need to be alone."

   "Okay."

THIRTY SEVEN.

PAWNS AND PUPPETS

   ACCORDING TO RIP, the Time Masters possess a thing called the Oculus. It allows them to morph and shape the future at their whim. The Captain told us about a possible future he was shown Ray was dying. Apparently, everything we've done up to this moment has been at the Time Masters will. Puppets and pawns... of course. Free will is simply an illusion.

   "They have engineered our lives to move in a very specific direction. And we are playing out their script even now."

   "So you're saying regardless of what we do, we are playing into their hand?" I argued.

    "Well then, we need to do what they won't want."

    "If the Oculus is what they're using to control us, then we need to destroy it."

   "Then how do we do that if the Time Bastards are pulling our strings?"

   The Captain pushed his coat open to place his hands on his hips, "Druce told me that the Oculus's ability to control our actions doesn't work in the Vanishing Point, most likely because the Vanishing Point itself exists outside of time."

    Mick pressed his palms into Gideon's console as he thought, "Explains why we were able to escape."

   "It has a weakness. We might be able to destroy it," Sara frowned in approval.

   "If I'm gonna be someone's puppet, I'm gonna be the one who cuts his own bloody strings," Rip remarked.

   "And I like blowing stuff up." Mick's eyes lit up with excitement

   "I wouldn't mind stabbing someone," I answered, mild disassociation in my stare, "Sorry, should I have kept that to myself?"

   Palmer's lips pulled down into a frown as he nodded his head, "Pushing the urge to stab aside, we set out on a mission to stop Savage and save the world."

   Ray's attention swept over the group, his eyes intentionally making contact with everyone, "To become legends and change our fates. This mission hasn't changed."

   "This is madness," Snart stood with a slight pep in his step, "I like it."

   Rip inhaled deeply before asking Gideon to plot a course to the Oculus Wellspring. Afterwards, Mick and I found ourselves in the galley, drowning ourselves in sugar and beer. The best indulgence life had to offer... other than sex.

   I threw a shot of tequila back and bit into a bitter lime. Mick downed his own cup before plopping into a chair. The legs squeaked backwards, and he released a tired huff. Conflict flickered in his distant stare before exhaustion blanketed the expression.

   I moved to stand in between his legs, "You okay?"

   "Tired with a killer headache," he grimaced.

   My hand gently rose to caress the side of his face. He leaned into the touch and closed his eyes, "How did you do it?"

   "Do what?"

   "Resist their brainwashing?"

   Mick fell quiet. A soft whistle came from his nose as he inhaled deeply. He breathed me in before prying open his eyes. A moment of honesty passed between us, "You. The team."

   A smile broke out on my lips, "Look at you, being all sentimental."

   His eyes shot open, and he rolled them dramatically. A gloved hand wrapped around my thigh and squeezed gently.

   "Shut up," Mick grumbled as he pulled me into his lap. Needy lips kissed mine, and I slapped his shoulder playfully. "Go easy on me."

   I laughed against his mouth, "Scared I'll hurt you?"

   "Somethin' like that," his words were gruff like gravel coated with unsureness. Tenderly, Rory cradled my jaw. He didn't say a thing for a few seconds. He just stared at me, "I've never had feelings like this before. Lust, yes. But not like this."    My chest squeezed at the confession, "Me neither."

   I kissed him again, "Terrifying, isn't it? Admitting you have feelings?"

   Mick's brow rose in amusement, "Didn't think I could have those."

   "For a while there, I wasn't allowed to have them." My finger ran along the length of his angular nose and along the scar parallel to it, "They were seen as a weakness, so they were weeded out of us. Sympathy was the enemy, and humanity robbed us of efficiency."

   I thought back to how the League used me. My body was a tool for them to use... to kill, seduce, harden, and mold to their liking. Any indulgences I wanted were suppressed. It took a long time for me to even admit I wanted anything. Touch that wasn't abusive or violent was something i didn't really feel until after I left. Even then, I barely allowed myself to feel anything out of fear of attachment.

   But here under Mick's touch, I gave in to whatever impulses my body wanted. Mick seemed to notice how I retreated into my mind, and he reached for the hand I used to trace his features. The touch anchored me back into reality.

   "I didn't let them take anything. Those bastards don't deserve it." His hushed voice was breathy against my skin. I sank into the comfort of his embrace, and our foreheads touched.

  I have no clue why I felt so safe around him. By every account, Mick Rory was a brooding asshole who cared about no one. Yet, here I was pressed against his body, feeling vulnerable and secure. Something in him recognized something in me, and we never questioned it. He understood all the bad that came with my good, and I did the same for him.

   Heat flushed over me as Mick's teeth nipped at my bottom lip. His free hand moved to my ass, and he gently guided me closer. I cradled his face and melted into his movements. Need and desire crept up my lower back, "Mick. We can't. Not here."

   "Why?" He complained after breaking his lips from mine to kiss along my neck.

   "'Cause we're in the kitchen."

   "That's what makes it fun." He grumbled behind my ear before biting my jaw gingerly.

Our lips reconnected, and I snickered after his tongue brushed mine, "Someone's gonna catch us—"

    "Oh god. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to— I didn't see anything actually. God, I'm never gonna get that out of my head, am I?"

   I jerked away from Mick's mouth at the sudden stuttering. Behind us, Ray practically jumped out of his skin. His hand was firmly covering his eyes, and he used his other hand to not run into the wall after he swiftly turned his back.

   "Relax, Boy Scout, we still have our clothes on," Mick glared at a red-cheeked Palmer.

   "I was just coming in for a snack. I didn't mean to interrupt anything. Sorry." He sputtered out again.

   "Such a prude."

   I removed myself from Mick's lap and a tight-lipped smile formed on my face, "As fun as this was... I'll let you boys chat."

   They both opened their mouths to protest, but I blinked away as quickly as I could to avoid embarrassment anymore. I didn't give much thought to my landing point, so when I ended up outside of Martin's room, I found myself curiously peaking in.

   "Hey Marty," I smiled sweetly.

   "Xo," he returned the warm gesture and set aside his notes. Books and scribbled notes on pieces of paper were scattered around his tablet. A rigid breath rose his shoulders, and he tried to power through the ache, "What brings you here?"

   "I was in the neighborhood, thought I'd ask for a cup of sugar," I joked.

   "Fresh out, I'm afraid. But you're welcome to join me."

    My forehead tugged upwards at the offer, and I gladly plopped myself on the worn armchair beside his bed.

   "How do you feel?"

   "Not well, my dear. The separation from Jefferson is taking its toll."

   My chin rested on my knee as I curled up in the seat. "Anything I can do?"

   "I'm afraid not." A twinge of sadness dropped his tone. I hated feeling useless, but there wasn't anything I could do. Martin caught the disappointment that crossed my face, "I appreciate you checking in on me, though."

   "I can be kind when I want."

   Martin blew out a sigh before turning back to his project. I enjoyed watching him work... it felt like a privilege. I would never tell him that, though. His ego would get too big, then there would be no more room for anyone but him on the ship. His mind worked faster than his hands could keep up, so most of the time his notes were abbreviated chicken scratch. The scribbles were something only he could decipher.

   There was one time I sat with him late into the evening. He couldn't sleep, and neither could I, so he explained to me over tea a dilemma he and Ray couldn't figure out. I didn't understand a lick of what he was saying, but I still provided insight where I could. It felt nice to just be included, which he tried to do often. I liked learning, and he enjoyed teaching.

   "How's the rest of the team?"

   "The Captain is held up in his parlor, Rory and Palmer are in the galley, and I think Snart is with Sara."

   Silence weighed over us at the absence of two names. Kendra has yet to be seen since Savage took her and Jax... well, Jax was home safe from this flying metal death trap. Martin's pen stopped moving, and he inhaled deeply once more.

THIRTY SIX.

ROBBER OF ATM'S

   I DROPPED THE BAG OF CHIPS IN MY HAND WHEN a bloody Ray stumbled out of the containment room. His breathing was shallow and ragged, "I didn't mean to. He was stronger than I expected."

   "Raymond, you idiot," I hoisted him up as best as I could before blinking to the MedBay.

   Ray groaned when my hand pressed a little too hard on his ribs. Curses slipped from my lips. He was much heavier and dumber than he looked.

   "My high school Spanish didn't teach me half of the words you just said, but I can tell you're angry."

   His body slumped into the chair, and I mumbled a faint apology. I shouted at Gideon to help him before I swiftly jumped to the bridge. As soon as I arrived, I announced Raymond's oversight, "Savage escaped. He and Palmer get into an altercation."

   Rip snapped into action and instructed Gideon to pull up every surveillance feed on the ship. Unfortunately, Savage got to them first and disabled our only eye in the sky. And the cherry on top was that he had already freed Carter in the process. Delightful. Midway through her briefing, Gideon powered down. Savage had disengaged our last electronic defense against him.

   "Isn't this just peachy?" I mumbled as we descended into darkness. The emergency lights kicked on, and I stood there, rather amused by how quickly the tyrant worked.

   "Really allows us to get in some team bonding, huh, gang?"

   "Ms. Luna, would you please shut up?" Rip complained sharply.

   Stein's voice rose with panic, "Gideon's entire operational matrix is offline. Without her help..."

   "Looks like we are going old school," I muttered.

"Yes, we must approach this the old-fashioned way." The Captain concluded.

   Mick grumbled from his seat, saying we needed to be more worried about Savage and Carter than we needed to be about Gideon's navigation. Rip placed his palms together and gestured towards Mick and Palmer, "That is why I need you and Dr. Palmer to capture him. Take Ms. Luna, in fact. Perhaps she can talk Savage into an early death."

   My lips puckered into an O shape, "Hurtful." I feigned insult, "Let's go, boys."

   Without looking, I removed the concealed blade from my calf. Blinking to the armory, I loaded my person with knives. By the time I joined back up with the boys, chaos rang through the hallways.

   Lasers blasted the hallway, and Snart grunted his displeasure, "Come to join the party?"

   "You should've left me back in 2166!" Savage's disembodied voice declared from around the corner, "Who are you to stand against me, Vandal Savage, destroyer of empires!?"

   "Leonard Snart, robber of ATMs!"

   Snart fired his cold gun, and a long, icy stream emitted from his weapon. He took refuge behind the wall, "Anyone got any plans, cause now would be a good time to share them!"

   I twirled a knife in my hands, "Give me some cover."

   Snart and Mick locked eyes, nodded sharply, then stepped out to provide suppressed fire. I blinked behind Savage and attacked. My knife sliced along his calf, and I blacked out his sight. He hissed in pain. Shadows slithered around his mouth, and he fought the restraints.

   Aggressively, Vandal reached behind himself and grabbed my weight-bearing leg. He yanked it from under me, and I fell on my back hard. Without his sight, he placed his finger heavily on his gun's trigger and fired aimlessly into the air. Laser blasts bounced around the hallways, dug holes into the walls, and a few struck the team.

   "Fuck!" I cried as a laser seared through my skin.

   Snart and Mick attempted to find cover while I gripped the arm of the laser blaster. It burned and stung like fire ants. Blood poured from the wound, and I lost feeling in my fingers.

   Savage began to fight dirty. I grappled with him and used my legs to pin his arms. He growled like a madman and tried to fight off my advances. I successfully slashed a deep gash into his chest, and blood-spattered. Like a rabid animal, Savage's teeth clamped down on my knife-wielding arm.

   "Asshole!"

   While I was trying to pry his jaw off of me, I didn't notice the pipe he swiftly slammed against the side of my head. Pain radiated through my body, and I swear I could hear my teeth rattle. As my vision blurred, I stabbed him once more. This time, the blade stuck in his flesh. For good measure, the bastard flung me into the wall and left me there as he walked further down the hallway.

   I forced myself onto my knees. Blood trickled from my nose onto the back of my hands when I pushed myself to stand. I hissed when Savage raised his gun towards a limping Kendra. My hand shot out in front of me, and I flung a spiral of dark clouds towards the tyrant.

   The weapon flew out of his grasp, "Agh!" He growled.

   Stepping through the darkened doorway, Carter emerged. He held tightly to Kendra and brought her towards Savage. I fought to get to my feet. Kendra whimpered when Savage held tightly to her throat. Blinking behind them, my body hits the wall rather ungracefully.

   Carter's name was pressed out of Kendra as a plea. He cradled his head before glaring at Savage with such disdain and anger. Wings appeared from his back in one grand motion. He bared his teeth and shook off whatever brainwashing Savage had him under.

   My arms gave out the second he pounced on Vandal. Thank god, I muttered to myself. Carter threw Kendra out of the way, and I reached for her out-of-breath body.

   "Grughhh. Ahh."

   There was a gushing sound, blood, an apology, then pure rage. Carter was stabbed, and Kendra was instantly on her feet. Pride swelled in my chest as she managed to knock out Savage in a few combination punches. I tore my eyes away and crawled to Carter's unconscious body. Rip followed behind me and propped the Demi-God's head onto his knees as I checked for a pulse.

   Beneath my finger, I felt a faint throb, "He's alive."

   I huffed a sigh of relief, "He's alive."

   Warmth spread throughout my arm as I tried to regulate my breathing. Fingers gently wrapped around my arm, and concern followed, "Xo, you're bleeding."

   "No shit."

   The Captain brushed aside my sarcasm and began applying pressure. Against my better judgment, I allowed him to tend to it. The ground felt nice, and all I wanted to do was sink into its coolness and disappear for a while. That, of course, wasn't an option.

   "Come, let's get you up," Rip gently guided.

   "What about Carter?"

   "Ms. Saunders will tend to him. Let's get you to the MedBay."

   "But the others?"

   "Xo, will you just stop being stubborn and move your bloody feet?" he complained after nudging me along.

   I did as I was told. Rip helped clean and bandage my wound in silence before administering some meds. I allowed my heavy eyes to shut just for a few moments and forced myself to awkwardly "sleep" through a conversation between Ray and Kendra, which I obviously should not have been privy to.

   Eventually, I managed to slink away into the one and only bathroom available on the ship. I rinsed off the day with scolding hot water and allowed the burn to calm me. I sat criss-crossed on the sink, quietly applying ointment when a knock racked the door.

    "Look who's alive."

   "Shut up."

   Mick opened the door enough to step in. He eased into the steam still lingering in the room. I tracked him as he walked towards me. He observed quietly, his gaze fixing on my wound instantly. Tenderly, his finger stopped a rogue water droplet that clung to my skin.

   "You look like shit," his tone contradicted his touch.

   "Well, aren't you kind?" I mirrored the disgruntled nature he always presented.

   "Hmmph."

   Wordlessly, he handed me my pants. I ticked my eyebrow in amusement. Well, that was a first. I took the offering and dressed myself. After pulling on my shirt, he picked up on my lack of chattiness, "You wanna be alone?"

   "Kind of," I shrugged. Sincerity bled into my voice, and Mick nodded gently.

   "I'll come check on you later?"

   "I wouldn't complain."

   "Don't go sounding too eager."   

   I rolled my eyes and tenderly kissed his cheek. With one finger, I pressed into his chest and silently asked him to give me space. The brooding pyro turned to leave, and I let the bathroom's silence swallow me whole once more.

—

[ The Vanishing Point ]

    I sat staring at the untouched communication device Gideon fabricated for my brother and me. Sara's nagging prickled under my skin, and I laughed at my anxiousness. Just call him. Do it. Stop worrying. I lifted the device and tapped on the screen, "What is wrong with me?"

   A few antagonizing moments later, my thumb finally stopped hovering over the call button. The dial tone rang, and I waited patiently for Danny to pick up. My anxiousness dissolved when his face appeared. Brown eyes and a big, toothy smile.

   "Xo? Hey, is this working? Can you see me?"

   I nodded, "I can. Hey. Sorry, it took so long to call... It's been busy here."

   "I'm sure it has been. Time traveling can be a tedious thing, I'm sure." His laugh was infectious. Messy wavy hair crowded his forehead before he fluffed it to life, "How have you been? You taking care of yourself?"

   "'M Trying too. Today was a big step for us. It looks like there could actually be an end to this... I'm not quite sure what that would mean for me, though."

   "You could always take a break here. With Jasmine and me. We'd love to have you. You could get a slice of some normalcy."

   I snickered, "I don't do too well with normal—"

   There was a distant thud. It was muffled but still loud enough to raise the alarms in my head. Danny noticed the shift in my posture, "What's up?"

   My eyes narrowed, and I tried to tune my ears to catch any noise. Heavy boot fall, whispered commands, clothing movement. I stood cautiously, "Something's up." I quickly looked down at the screen and apologized, "I'll call you back."

   "Okay?" He sounded confused but didn't ask any further questions.

   I hung up and stuffed the device underneath my mattress. Without hesitating, I blinked to a spacious compartment above the kitchen area.

   "Chronos has been apprehended. Find the others."

   Shit. Through the grate, I made out the figures of six heavily armed guards. My shoulders straightened, and I blinked to my next advantageous point. I landed in a pool of shadows beneath the captain's parlor. There was more movement above me. I heard Stein protest, and a few seconds later, his voice became distant.

   I waited for the commotion to die down. Coming here must have been a trap... a setup. Rip and the rest of the team have been captured, and I think Gideon is still out of commission. Fuck.

   More footsteps broke the chaos, sounding off in my head. Two sets. One person had longer strides than the other. I pressed my ear towards the floorboard and waited for them to speak. One male, one female, but their voices were too muddled to be sure. If they were guards, I could attack and use their uniform to infiltrate and find the team.

   Utilizing the element of surprise, I blinked in the parlor above me and instantly blacked out their sight. Relief washed over me when I realized it was just Sara and Snart.

   "Xo—"    "It's us, Kitty."

   "What the hell is happening?" I huffed with a wave of my arm to give them back their vision.

   "Where were you hiding?" Snart questioned.

   "I'm paranoid, so I made it my business to know every inch of the ship. There's a bunch of storage compartments and cavities that can be used for hiding spaces."

   "Great minds think alike."

    I nodded once before blinking to look out of the windows. We were in a hangar with other WaveRider-like ships. From this vantage point, I couldn't make out a solid exit. "So what's our first move?"

   "Getting out of here," Leonard told abruptly.

   "I meant regarding the team," I reminded.

   Snart mumbled under his breath, saying there was nothing more we could do for them. Sara and I found each other's eyes from across the room, and she scoffed at his pithiness, "You're just gonna leave Mick?"

   "If the Time Masters are half as twisted as Mick said, there's an excellent chance Mick is no longer Mick."

   I balked, "You're just going to give up on him? On the team?"

   The clepto disregarded my disdain and asked why we weren't flying yet. Sara shook her head in disbelief, "I'm not going anywhere. Even if we wanted to leave, we are in a hangar surrounded by an entire armada of time ships."

   "We are in the WaveRider! We have guns! We can blast our way out!" Snart arrogantly huffed.

   "Okay, Billy the Kid, take a second to think about how that could backfire," I reminded harshly, "Believe it or not, I've actually developed an affinity for the team. We aren't leaving without them."

   "I'm with Xo. We aren't leaving."

      Leonard inhaled deeply. Sly fingers unclipped his cold gun, and he aimed it at Sara menacingly, "Maybe I didn't make myself clear."

   Before he could say anything else, I blinked in front of her and hardened my expression. Tension developed in his hands, and he adjusted his grip. His eyes silently challenged mine, hoping for a fight.    "Step aside, kitty, she's a big girl who can fight her own battles."

    My jaw set, "Men and their toys. Put it down and let's go a few rounds."

    "I'm sure you'd enjoy that, wouldn't you?"

   "I take no pleasure in hurting anyone, but threaten her again and I just might."

   Snart's lips pursed, and he perked up at the idea. My patience was beginning to slip. Ring. Ring.

   "Bird?"

   With my eyes still glued to Snart, she quietly dismissed herself to inspect the sound. It came from the phone in Rip's office. Leonard broke eye contact to watch her for a split second before returning his gaze to mine. A second later, he begrudgingly lowered his weapon, "Truce?"

   "Yeah, sure." I warily agreed with mock enthusiasm.

    "It's Gideon," Sara interjected, "She's alive."

   The AI spoke to her, informing her where the team was being held, and told us we needed to act fast. I asked her if she had a plan, and she, in fact, did. We followed her instructions to the letter, placing circular devices on each of the ships in the hangar to allow her access to their framework matrices.

   Snart of course complained the entire time, saying it was a shit plan. Sara had a way of persuading him and getting him to not be such an asshole. I'd have to ask her how she did it. Despite the heavy loads of pessimism in the air, Gideon managed to restart the time drive and get it running again. Sara took to the navigation chair and jumped us forward in time for a few seconds to trick the council before jumping right back to the present.

   With precision, Sara fired the WaveRider's guns at the Time Master's central hub. It served as a wonderful distraction. Gideon, being ever so helpful, pulled up schematics for the outpost, and I scanned over them as quickly as I could. The team was being held in cell block 4587 while Mick was being detained in 6794. There were very few directions on where to find him since it was the restricted wing.

   "Let's divide and conquer."

   Sara stayed put and piloted the ship while I blinked Snart and me into the base. We quietly appreciated in a cloud of darkness. Using the butt of his gun, Leonard knocked out the Time Master watching the team.

   Martin moved in his cell with glee, "Your timing is impeccable."

   "As always," I smirked before turning to Snart, "Think you can manage getting them out?"

   "Try and pretend to have some faith in me, Kitty." He pouted glibly.

   "See you in a few."

   Shadows swallowed me as I jumped to the restricted section. There was very little signage around the place. Number markings and one-word names denoted the armory, medical wing, and more. I did my best to remember Gideon's directions.

   I turned down the hallway, my feet sputtering to a stop once I saw Chronos's armor approaching me. His stride was long, and his footsteps were heavy. Large guns adorned his person, and his helmet covered his face. Fuck.

   I lifted my hands in surrender, "Put the gun down, Mick."

   He continued his advance towards me. Menacing and sharp. I said his name again in hopes of reaching him, but he persisted. When he was close enough to touch, he removed his helmet.

   His brows unfurled, and a crooked smirk tugged at his bruised lip, "Don't get all weepy on me just yet, sweetheart, it's still me."

   A breathy chuckle left my lips, and relief flashed over me. My hand patted his armored chest, and I spoke with a sigh, "Oh, thank god. I really didn't feel like punching you again."

   "Good, I didn't feel like getting punched by you again," He grunted his thanks before his hands patted my hip to leave, "C'mon, they sent me after the team."

   Mick grabbed my hand and led me down the hallway. When we neared the block holding our group, he told me to stay a few paces behind him, "Follow my lead."

   I helped secure his helmet once more, and he raised his weapon. As he stepped into the doorway, he aimed his gun. I could hear Snart berating him, telling Mick to stand down. I stuck to the wall when I heard footsteps approaching. Remaining in the shadows, I managed to sneak in after him. Just as he gave Mick the command to fire on everyone, Rory fired his gun at the Time Master.

   "Sure thing."

   The green energy sent sparks towards the robed man. He was blasted against the wall before slumping against the metal. Mick steps closer to him, his boot falls heavy again. His voice dropped, and he grunted, "If I recall, I made you a certain promise."

   As the Time Master begged for his life, Mick paid him no mind. His clunky boot rose and smashed his head without hesitation. Blood and bone crunched and squished against the floors and walls. With wild eyes, he looked at Snart before glancing at me.

   Gruffly, he huffed, "No more strings."

THIRTY FIVE.

ALEXA

[  TIMESTREAM  ]

   "MISSION ALMOST ACCOMPLISHED," declared Rory as he sauntered down the steps of Rip's parlor.

As the brown bottle in his hands touched his lips, the Captain raised his hand with a wince, "That bottle of scotch was gifted to me by Bob Roy McGregor in 1689."

"Well, it's not half bad." Mick ignored his explanation and handed the bottle off to me when I was within reach.

Unapologetically, I locked eyes with Rip and took a swig. He rolled his eyes when I passed it to Sara, and she did the same thing, "We should be toasting to Savage's death." She remarked.

   "Apart from celebrating murder, Savage still has Carter brainwashed." The professor chirped.

   "I don't know if you've been paying attention, Professor, but murdering Savage was always the plan," Leonard reminded, "Besides, Carter reincarnates."

   "Which is more than I can say about us," Rory lifted the lower half of my legs to sit in the seat they once resided in.

   "As long as he's on board and breathing, Savage is a threat to everyone on this ship," Snart spoke firmly.

   "So what, we just kill Savage and leave Carter a brainless drone?" Kendra argued, visibly frustrated with the proposal. The clepto pointed factually while his partner grumbled, "Yes."

   Before the argument could go further, Palmer and Jax joined the group, "Sorry, we're late. We've been running diagnostics on Ray's suit after his battle with Savage's Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Robot. "

   Ray tapped along Gideon's console and revealed their findings, "The telemetry data included a comparative scan of the robot's tech."

   Martin marveled at the model Ray generated. A mixture of orange strings is bound together at the nucleus before expanding outwards. Brief confusion crossed his expression, "It's astonishingly futuristic."

   "Yeah, It's from 2166." Kendra chimed in from the Professor's left.

   "Well, that's the thing. It's not." Jax continued to tell us that the technology they acquired from Savage was light-years beyond what it should have been.

   Snart rolled his head to the side, amusement drenching his words, "Who cares?"

   "The Time Masters," Rip spoke sharply, "They refuse to take action against Savage because he didn't pose a threat to the timeline."

   "But if he comes into possession of future technology..." Rip's excitement sped up his words, "It means he's been engaging in exactly the same manipulation of time the Time Council was designed to prevent."

   "Now we have the smoking gun," I concluded.

   "Last time I checked, the Time Council was at the edge of the timeline, and this bucket of bolts," Mick lifted his hands to emphasize his point, "can barely hold it together as it is."

   The Captain ignored Rory's pessimism and asked Gideon to update him on the status of the Time Dive. The AI answered promptly, saying it was stable. Like a dog locked on a scent, Rip maneuvered around the group and sat in his piloting chair, "Tonight, Vandal Savage faces justice for his crimes."

   I looked at Sara, "About damn time."

—

   Against Gideon's wishes, the Captain demanded the Time Drive be set to maximum. Small thunderous claps of noise shook the ship violently. For a brief second, the lights flickered on and off. I turned my chin up, "G, what the hell was that?"

The Time Drive is failing, Miss. Luna. The mains are offline. Repairs are needed.

    "Of course they are, cause why can't anything we do go smoothly?"

   Smoke clouded at my feet before I jumped to the bridge. Martin and Jax practically ran into me as I appeared.

   "Can we go five minutes without having to repair something?" I asked in annoyance.

    Jax pointed matter-of-factly, "Ditto."

   "I can do without the sarcasm, Ms. Luna," Rip admonished. He turned his disapproval from me and looked to Sara, "Ms. Lance, if you wouldn't mind going and checking on our guest?"

   Before she could move, I interjected, "No need. I'm on it."

   "No, Miss. Luna, I prohibit—"

   I blinked despite his protest. With the image of the brig in my mind, I jumped. My appearance forced Savage to look up from his seated position. The black ichor in his eyes darkened with pleasure when he saw me. "Good to see you, Ms. Luna."

I didn't bother looking at him. My feet carried me to the panel on the wall. My fingers tapped along the screen and reinforced Gideon's protocols. When I didn't respond to Vandal right away, he spoke again, "You look better than the last time I saw you."

   I remained quiet.

    "Ah, the silent treatment," Savage clasped his hands behind his back and strolled towards me, "You know, a simple thank you would suffice. I helped you, whether you would like to admit that or not." He smiled, seemingly pleased with himself.

   "I'm sure you feel it too... You must be stronger at least, quicker perhaps."

   Don't allow him the satisfaction, Xo. If I'm being honest, I'm not totally sure why I wanted to be the one to check on him. Perhaps seeing him in a cage brought me some excitement.

   "I must admit, I'm just the tiniest bit surprised you are still here. Tell me, Qata 'Aswad, do you blame Captain Hunter for putting his family before yours? Before the lives of his team?"

   I could feel his gaze boring into the side of my face. My shoulders rolled back, attempting to relinquish my body from his stares, "I'm not sure if I should admire your loyalty or scoff at your stupidity."

   My chin turned to the ceiling, and I inhaled deeply, mildly entertained at his ability to drone on.

"You don't strike me as idiotic, Ms. Luna, yet here you stay. Dying for a man who would not hesitate to sacrifice his team for his own ambitions isn't admirable or loyal... It's foolish. With all the powers you possess, you would be a valuable asset to many; instead, you choose to serve a man as feeble-minded as Rip Hunter.

   "You have every right to be furious with the Captain. His suicide mission to save his family will be the cause of your team's demise." Savage leaned against the glass enclosure, "He has lied and undermined you at every opportunity. You do know why he selected you all for his team, don't you?"

   His brows lifted after he asked his question, "He chose people he could manipulate. What better person than a child assassin with family issues?"

   I allowed the smallest hint of an amused smirk to pull at my lips. That would be the only satisfaction I'd allow him. When I was finished, I turned to face Savage. My fingers curled, and I flipped off the tyrant before blinking away. His laughter rang in my ear as I reappeared in my room.

   "Asshole."

   I only had a few moments of peace when Gideon's voice chirped above me.

Mr. Rory has requested your presence in the MedBay.

   "What's wrong with Mick?"

It's Mr. Jackson who's hurt. He was exposed to temporal radiation that is accelerating the rate of intracellular degeneration.

   I immediately jumped to the MedBay. My clouds placed me beside Mick, my foot landing on his. His hand pressed into the small of my back to steady me, and I apologized. He grunted softly, and I walked towards Jax.

   "What the hell happened?"

   "The Captain sent Jefferson to repair the time drive." Stein filled me in.

   Jax's normally youthful appearance was replaced by a greying, wrinkled version. He groaned like an old man when he shifted in his seat. I swear he looked like he was going to offer me a piece of loose candy from his pocket. He made a cute old man. I winced and gently placed my hand on his shoulder. My eyes silently asked how he was doing, and his aged gaze reassured my worry.

   "This is what happens when Rip goes with Plan B," Snart sneered.

   "Plan A being taking Savage's head in with that mace."

   The professor shook his head in disapproval, "We are endeavoring to resolve this without bloodshed."

   "Oh, we are way past that, Marty." I reminded coldly.

   Jax moved to sit up, "Look, there's nothing we can do about it now."

   "We can talk to Hunter—" Mick tried.

   "Even if Kendra were to kill Savage, my situation's still the same."

   "We're talking about our situation, Pops."

   "We're not waiting around for the other shoe to drop," Snart turned his chin down every so slightly and redirected his tone to sound softer, "You deserve better."

   The klepto turned to leave, and Mick trailed his partner. I ticked my attention back to Jax, "Go, I'll be fine. Keep us in the loop."

   I nodded and followed the boys. I briefly heard Mick mutter the name Alexa, and confusion tugged at my brows, "Alexa?" I racked my brain until I remembered a late-night conversation, "The security deposit job?"

   "Got a bad feelin'... we gotta listen to our gut. You coming with?" Rory asked.

   I glanced over my shoulder. Snart was right, Jax deserved better. We all did. My head nodded, and they led the way. Displeasure rippled down the hall and followed us onto the bridge. Mick and Snart marched up the parlor steps. "We need to talk. We saw what you did to Jax."

   "And we're worried it's just the beginning."

   Rip looked up from the table, immediately clocking their disgruntled tone. He sighed, "Beginning of what?"

   "It's like I said, Rip. As long as Savage is alive and on this ship, he is dangerous." Snart grumbled.

   Rip huffed, his eyes scanning me as I walked to an armchair, "You're uncharacteristically quiet."

    I shrugged, "Oh, I'm just here to watch. You've already heard my earful. It's other people's turn."

   His shoulders lifted with a heavy sigh, not even bothering to argue, "The time drive is rebooting. We will soon be on our way. I'm asking for a little faith, gentlemen."

"Sorry. Fresh out." Leonard snared.

   Rip paused, finally pulling himself away from whatever schematics he was looking at. His fist clenched, and he eyed the men in front of him, but included me when he asked, "I take it you are all of the same mind then?"

"Yes," Mick growled lowly.

   In between the boy's exchanges, Sara snuck up the stairs and planted herself against the door frame. Her expressive eyes looked at mine, silently evaluating my face. She looked like a cat who had been cornered, her body very aware of the danger ahead.

    Fight or flight. My instincts were never wrong; I never doubted them before. Sara shared the same apprehensions I did, the same level of doubt and uncertainty carved into us by the League. Time to run. Time to get out before things get too messy. Anger rose in my throat... was that all this was? A failed experiment? Have I been so blind that I neglected all the signs? And for what? Hope? The desire to be good? To stop running? The more I spiraled, the more I realized just how childish and naive all of it sounded. Stupid. Just plain stupid.

   "And what of you, Miss Lance?" Her eyes stuck to me for a few seconds before she focused them on the Captain.

   "You're the one who said you'd sell us out for your family," Sara told.

   "Well, if that's how you all feel, none of you is obliged to continue on this voyage with me," The Captain's hands sat on his hips in frustration, "As I told Martin, the Jumpship can make a one-time voyage back to 2016."

   "You saying it's ours?" Mick's voice cut through Rip's anger.

   "I'm saying that this mission has always been a voluntary enterprise."

    "The mission was to kill Savage, which doesn't seem to be a priority anymore." I swiftly added, much to the annoyance of Rip.

   "Very well. Leave, if that is what you all believe—"

   "It's been a blast, Rip," Snart quipped dryly, "Good luck getting to the Vanishing Point."

   "Tell your pals Chronos says, 'kiss my ass.'"

   Mick paused for a second before fully leaving the group. His gaze caught mine briefly before he continued. The second Rip turned to me, I shrugged my shoulders once, "I promised I'd stay on board until we killed Savage... if we are not doing that, then I will take my services elsewhere."

   Sara watched intently, her blank expression expertly hiding her true feelings. I called her by her nickname, "Bird?"

   "I'll catch up in a second."

   With one last glance at Rip, I gave him a limp two-finger salute before getting up and walking down the parlor stairs.

   I followed the sound of voices down the hallway, arriving just in time to see Mick press the professor to the wall. His arm pinned Martin, and he gasped.

    "Hey, hey, hey!" I interjected, "What the hell's going on?"

    "Poindexter here used our only way back home," Mick snarled.

    "I did what I had to do to save Jefferson's life."

   I peered around Stein to see the empty hold that once contained the JumpShip. There goes our trip home. My head lulled to the side, and disappointment radiated from me, "Martin."

   "I'm not sorry, I hold no regrets for what I did." his words were stoic, but his chest rose frantically with Mick's forearm still pressing into his lungs. "Now we must do whatever's necessary to repair the WaveRider and deliver Savage to the Vanishing Point."

   "Screw this."    "Can't you jump us back, Kitty?"

   "That's not how my powers work, and you know that. I can't jump through time."

   "Can't or won't?"

   "Watch it, Snart. I don't know what would happen if I tried, and I'm not willing to risk my life for yet another experiment."

   "Hmm."

   "Enough," Stein croaked once Mick released him, "We can keep shouting at each other until we are all blue in the face, but we are sacrificing valuable time."

    "I can't wait to get off this death trap!" Mick shouted to the ceiling.

   "I would like to go to the bridge now without fear of being pushed or hit... is that at all a possibility?" Martin asked, his tone angered and rushed.

THIRTY FOUR.

A LITTLE MORE TIME

[ London, 2166 ]

   SARA DELT A NEW HAND. I palmed the face-down cards and began organizing them as she grabbed a handful of pretzels.

   "So," she spoke with her mouth full, "Have you spoken with Danny yet?"

   I frowned, thumbing my way through the cards, "Not yet."

   "What's the holdup?"

   I took a little too long to respond. Sara signed, "Xo, you gotta talk to him eventually."

   "I'm just a bit nervous."

   "Why? It's your brother."

   "I know. It's just— things are different now. We aren't kids anymore. We don't know each other. Hell, I'm still learning about myself. And like, what if this person I have become isn't what he expects? I know I love him and I know he loves me, but will he like me?"

   "Xo, you're his sister... you've spent so much time trying to get back to him. That's gotta be worth something."

   "My past... everything I've done, how do I share that with him? Do I even share that with him?"

   "That's up to you. Just be yourself, Xo. That would be enough."

   "Ever since I got on the ship, I've been trying to figure out who I am. I've been other people for so long, I'm not even sure what I like. What if he's better off without me?"

   Sara set aside her cards and dusted the crumbs off her hands, "For as long as I've known 'ya, you've never let anything stop you... Why let a bunch of 'what ifs' drive the narrative now?"

   "Because the risks don't just involve me. They involve Danny."

   "Xo—"

   "I know bird... I just need a little more time."

   "Time is all we've got here. Don't waste it."

—

   Finding the hidden compartments all over the ship became a sort of game for me. I searched high and low, stumbling upon large storage units and small crawl spaces. My favorite by far was the small cubby space below the captain's parlor. It was pretty spacious for a storage compartment. I was able to stretch my legs and sit up comfortably. I even went as far as decorating it. A few pillows were at my back, and a blanket rested over my legs. My own hideout, shrouded in shadows. It was quiet and gave me a place to be alone. On occasion, it was a good place to listen.

   Martin was above me, speaking to himself as he thought. He did that often. His mumbling became a white noise as I melted into the darkness. Lazily, I thumbed through a first edition copy of Jane Eyre Rip had squirreled away as the professor's pacing came to a halt.

   "Astonishing..."

   A second set of footsteps approached, wider strides than Snart's but not as heavy as Mick's. A voice followed, "Savage's superweapon isn't an explosive." Ray.

   "The exact conclusion I've just come to after examining soil samples from the attack site. How did you determine it?"

   Martin's heels shifted his weight, the metal creaking below the turn. Ray stepped towards the professor, anticipation in his steps and tone, "Gideon— she found a defunct spy satellite. Look at the photos here. This is the camp. And here is the camp, destroyed."

   My curiosity piqued, and I set aside the book. Envisioning the worn-in leather chair above me, I silently blinked into the parlor. Fog clung to my feet as they dangled off the side of the chair.

   Completely oblivious to my appearance, Ray continued to gesture to the screen in front of him. Bird's-eye images of the camp appeared, and the craters in question lit up. "Look at the impact craters. Sort of squint your eyes. What do they look like?"

   Leaning forward, my eyes traced the outlines that resembled a boot-like shape. Gideon zoomed in, and an indentation became present. "Are those footprints?" I asked.

   The two jumped, practically leaning into each other in fear. I laughed and pointed to the screen once more. Martin clenched his chest, and his brows furrowed, "Do you enjoy startling me? Is that it?"

   "Did the old ticker finally stop, Martie?" "Just about."

   Thump. A loud rumble echoed. The glassware around us shook, and the liquid inside the decanters sloshed with each shock wave. My eyes turned upwards, and the boys did the same, "Companies coming," I mumbled.

   Martin's shoulders shook, a chill running down his spine, "Could you please refrain from making the situation less creepy?"

   "Nope."

   Palmer shook his head, attempting to hide his amusement. I smiled at Martin, which only seemed to annoy him further. "Xo, care to give us a lift to the refugee camp? We should warn them," Ray steered the conversation back to the situation at hand.

   "And then what? If this thing is capable of making craters that big— that destructive, where would they go? How would they hide?"

   Silence fell between us. We couldn't just leave them to fend for themselves... it was mainly families down there with little to no way to defend themselves. Contemplation crossed Ray's forehead, deepening the creases. Martin shared my sentiment, "We can't just abandon them."

   "So what... we fight?" Palmer asked.

   "We're low on the weaponry department. We might be able to defend ourselves to an extent, but what about them? There's a family down there... women and young children." Stein continued.

   "So what do you propose, professor?" I asked while walking towards them and grabbing at their arms.

   "We have a vessel capable of transporting people. What would a few more do?"

   "A few more, Martin... that's a whole township down there," I argued.

   "And they deserve to live. We need to help them. You asked me what I was proposing, and that's it."

   I looked at Ray, and he had the same unsure look in his eyes. He was right, we needed to get to them.

   "You think this will piss Rip off?"    "Undoubtedly."    "Then let's do it."

—

   Martin ushered families, both he and Ray attempting to calm the rising fear. A panicked child ran into my leg, gripping on tightly. My body stiffened, unsure of how to react. The little girl's cheeks were red, water welling in her eyes. I swallowed down the lump in my throat and bent down to her height.

   "It's okay. You're gonna be safe. I can help you find the ship... where are your parents?"

   "No parents," the little girl managed to get out, "just us."

   "Us?"

   Her hand shakily pointed to the group of children huddled together, the older kids shielding and holding the smaller ones. Realization ached my entire body. I inhaled deeply, attempting to put a kind smile on my face, "Okay. Okay, just follow me. Just. Follow me."

   With Martin's help, we guided all the refugees to the ship. Panic grew amongst the crowd as we funneled them up the ramp, "Come on, everything is fine. Calmly. No pushing, please. Everyone—"

   "What the hell is going on!" Rip's voice was disembodied for a few moments before he stormed into the hallway.

   "Saving a township, by the looks of it!" The professor declared as he waved more families through.

   "Since when did my vessel become a life raft?"

   "Since I decided we can't leave these people here to be slaughtered. You recruited us to save the world. That includes everyone here."

   Rip's jaw clenched as more people flooded in at different speeds. When his eye-line met mine, I shrugged my shoulders, "It's not like we can turn them away now."

   It was the truth. Rip inhaled deeply at my sarcasm and turned away from us, "Gideon, power the engines and get us into the air the moment the last refugee is on board!"

   More footsteps boomed, and the WaveRider shook. A collective shriek filled the cabin, and Martin did his best to reassure everyone. I blinked into different storage bays and found whatever blankets I could get my hands on. When I jumped back, I nearly ran into Dr. Palmer. "Here, help me pass these out."

   "Good thinkin'," Ray and I offered them to families as we walked down the hallway. Parents and children alike expressed their gratitude with profuse thanks and smiles. The queasiness in my throat tightened, limiting my ability to respond verbally. Gently, Ray patted my shoulder affectionately as we gave the last blanket away.

   "This is the last of them, Gideon!" The professor shouted at the ceiling. The ship shook more intensely the closer Savage's robot got. Bang. Thump. Rattle. Everyone clung to whatever was closest to them, children screaming and crying in their parents' arms.

   Whoosh. The ship rose, and the engines whirled to life. Metal creaked, and circuits exploded behind panels, sending sparks everywhere. Overhead, the lights flickered as the entire vessel tilted. Pain mercilessly spread along my body as my back slammed into the wall.

   "Who the hell is flying the ship?!" A gruff voice exclaimed. Mick. Our trajectory changed again, and everyone on the left side of the ship tumbled to the right. Rory's grip slipped, and he went barreling down the hallway. I allowed my body to go with the momentum before blinking. Smoke swallowed me whole, and I teleported to his position. My legs wrapped around his torso, and I blinked again before we could collide with the ground.

   With a soft thud, our conjoined limbs landed on my bed. Mick's hands squeeze my hips, "Thanks."

   The ship roughly changed directions again, and more screams erupted behind the closed doors. Above us, the lights went out, and I blinked again. I managed to time it just right so that when the ship made contact with the ground, Mick and I landed on the bed again. My elbow jabbed into his side, and I apologized, "Sorry."

   Mick groaned and moved to sit up. He mumbled something about killing the Captain, and I shared the feeling. Wasting no time, we got to our feet and climbed out the half-closed doors of my room. Side-stepping whatever debris lay at our feet, we made our way to the front of the ship.

   "There you are!" Martin declared over a loud bang. His glasses were crooked across his nose, and a few pieces of white hair were out of place. In passing, I quickly adjusted his frames to sit properly on his bridge before jogging to keep up with Mick.

   "Someone care to clue us in on why we took the ship on a ride from hell?" Rory gruffly asked to announce his arrival.

   The Captain propped his rather exhausted-looking body against Gideon's console, Sara and Ray on either side of him. Kendra's shoulders relaxed when she saw the three of us join.

   "We seem to have encountered Savage's mega weapon." Rip groaned.

   "And he kicked out asses," Sara spoke as she puffed a tired string of air out.

   "So how much time do we have?" I asked both Gideon and the Captain. The A.I. responded almost immediately, estimating that the robot would reach our location within the hour. Peachy.

One other thing. Our propulsion engine was severely damaged in the crash and is no longer functioning.

   "Anything else?" I mumbled, dryly.

Your pebble ice machine also sustained major damage.

   "Well, that's just perfect, isn't it?"

   "So where does that leave us?"

   "Drinking lukewarm beverages," I sarcastically offered.

   Sara smacked my arm in passing, and I feigned hurt. Clearly not the time. Rip pushed himself off the console and into a wide stride across the room. "Our only option is to take the Jumpship to try and outrun it."

   Martin grabbed the Captain before he could pass him, "The Jumpship seats seven. The cargo bay is full of refugees."

   "I'm well aware."

   "We can't just leave them there; we—" the professor stopped mid-sentence. He gasped for air and began to shake. The group followed his chin as it met his chest. Blood soaked his blue knit sweater, and a shard of metal protruded from his abdomen.

   "Martin!" Rip immediately supported the professor's weight as Ray, and I sprinted to help. The boys shouldered his weight and brought him to the medbay while the rest of us remained.

   "Jumpship is out of the picture. So what the hell do we do?" Sara asked the team.

   Kendra crossed her arms over her chest, "I may have a lead."

—

   The plan was to use Kendra's newly reinforced Morningstar to kill Savage. With Mick's help, they melted down her bracelet in hopes that it would deliver the final blow to the tyrant. Snart had also managed to talk down Vandal's daughter and convinced her to join our cause. So while Ray and Jax stayed behind to fight off the mega robot, the rest of us gathered to ambush Savage.

   We would use Cassandra as bait to draw him out in the open to give Kendra time. Huddled in the hallway leading to Savage, I did my best to listen.

   "How did you escape?" Savage greeted his daughter.

   "I am your daughter," the two shared a chuckle, "did you really think some rabble could hold me captive?"

   "Rabble? These are the time travelers I warned you of."

   "Father?"

   I poked my head out to see what caused his delay in responding. He gripped Cassandra's arm, observing it intently, "Your bracelet. It's gone."

   "I- I must have lost it in my escape."

   Harshly, Savage pulled his daughter closer, "As the person who tutored you in the art of deceit, you cannot fool me, Cassandra!"

   "Like you fooled me?" She lowered the volume of her tone and harshly whispered through her teeth, "You told me my mother died from the Armageddon Virus. But you were the one who released it. Tell me it isn't true. I might even pretend to believe you." Her anger seethed from her lips, "Let me go!"

   "Call them," Savage demanded, "Call the ones that you no doubt helped gain access to my bunker."

   Finally, Rip stepped out from his position and aimed his gun at Savage. I took my place on higher ground, my limbs safely securing me to the rafters. The rest of the team lifted their weapons of choice as Savage summoned his guards. He snickered, "She's here. I can sense her."

   I rolled my eyes and remained hidden as he turned his gaze to the ceiling, attempting to find Kendra. "You do realize that she can do me no harm?"

   "Clearly, you didn't get the memo," Rory remarked just before Kendra whooshed down from her perch a few feet away from mine.

   She flew towards the tyrant and carried him straight into the adjacent room. Rip charged first, shooting off a few rounds at the men to his left. Everyone followed suit, and I dove headfirst into the fray. My shadows consumed me before I could hit the ground, and I hissed in anticipation, "Lights out."

   I focused my attention on the dozen guards in the room. My fingers balled into fists as I summoned my shadows once more. Adrenaline seized my senses, and my body buzzed with energy. Through gritted teeth, I managed to blackout their sight in one go, allowing the team to gain the upper hand. It didn't take us long to dispose of Savages' men.

   "Support Kendra," Sara declared after hitting a guard unconscious, "Go!"

   As I ran off, a second pair of footsteps joined me. The Captain took the lead and barreled into the room, his gun ready. Kendra hovered over Savage, their bodies a bunch of tired muscles and labored breaths.

   "Finish him," Rip shouted once he noted the hesitance in her stance.

   Savage's conniving eyes stared up at her, "Destroy me, and you doom him."

   Through a desperate wince, Kendra sighed, "It's Carter."

   My head darted towards the guard on the floor. His face matched that of our fallen teammate— reincarnated under the man he despised. Struggle shook Kendra's entire body as she mentally and physically fought what she needed to do, "If I kill Savage, his mind will be lost."

   I knelt to feel for a pulse on Carter. It was thready and faint, but he was still alive. Beside me, Rip's voice cut through her reluctance, "And if you don't, I will lose my wife and son."

   Faced with her choices, Kendra released a scream in frustration. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she shoved Savage deeper into the table before releasing him. She made her decision, and Rip physically deflated. Apologies tumbled out of her trembling lips, "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I can't— I can't."

THIRTY THREE.

LID FOR EVERY POT

[  London, 2166  ]

     FIVE GUARDS, INCLUDING MYSELF, encircled Savage's blonde Lieutenant. The mask around my face was oddly similar to the one I wore with the League, except this time it was black fabric rather than red. Our eyes were the only things exposed as we waited to see who would attack first.

   My fingers instantly wrapped around the hilt of my sword, the second the man to my left reached for his. Raising his arm, he sliced the air beside her face. The Lieutenant sidestepped his advance and withdrew her own blade. Metal against metal. I refrained from joining the fight right away. I allowed the others to strike first to get a quick read on her movements.

   I finally joined the fight and connected my sword with hers. Seamlessly, I blended with the group. We took turns striking. Every blow was calculated— cogs in the machine. When she found a weakness in someone's stance or technique, she'd pick them off like flies. One by one, the group dwindled until it was just her and me. She eyed me curiously, confused as to why I was the outlier.

   As I advanced on her, I pressed on the notch on my handle and split my blades. I duel-wielded my swords, and she smirked at the challenge. Letting loose, I released all the tension from the past few days. With precision, I sidestepped her blows and nicked her upper arm. Blood instantly trickled from the thin scratch, and she smirked.

   "You're not one of ours—" she claimed, boldly.

   "Wonder what gave it away."

   My agility outmatched hers, but she was more forceful with her attacks. She crouched before dropping her knee. Her arm swung wide in an attempt to slash at my legs. I jumped, flipping over my shoulder and out of the way.

   "Surrender—" she gritted through her teeth.

   "Unlikely."

   She charged after me. Aggressively, she swung her blade at me diagonally. I redirected her elbow, and she dropped the hilt of her sword into her free hand. Anticipating the move, I managed to block her sneaky attack. She applied pressure against my blade, and I did the same. I gave way to her strength just enough to slide out and kick her shin.

   I spun out of the way and only allowed a bit of distance between us. I needed to keep her close. My fingers clenched the nodule on my handle, and my single blade slit into two. Intrigue crossed the Lieutenant's eyes as I kicked her weapon out of her hand. With my left blade held to her throat and the other to her chest, I exhaled evenly.

   "Admirable fight—"

   "Give me the bracelet."

   "You're forward, aren't you?"

   "Directness is in my nature. I'm also not a fan of repeating myself. Bracelet. Now."

   She smiled at my threat, "He said you might put up a fight. Guess I should have given you more credit. I should have known never to doubt the League's shadow."

   "How do you know that name?"

   "I was trained to be prepared, to recognize patterns, find weaknesses, and understand fighting styles. I was taught the League showed no mercy... you've clearly gone soft since your time with Captain Hunter, Qat 'aswad'."

   I leaned forward, inching my blades closer to her. She didn't flinch at the pain, but I knew where to press if I wanted to see it.

   "Don't call me that," my voice dropped, and my eyes shimmered silver.

   "I know all about your team, Ms. Luna. You cannot frighten me."

   I smiled, "I'll find a way," the words rolled off my tongue in a whisper.

   Above us, warning lights began to flash. Sirens wailed a few moments later, and Rory and Snart stepped out from their hidden positions. They drew their guns and aimed them at Savage's right hand.

   "Playtimes over, Kitty."    "Time to go, Ponytail."

   I swallowed down my annoyance and withdrew my swords. My eyes remained on the blonde as I reconnected the hilts together.

   "Your move, Ms. Luna."

   After sliding my sword into its sheath on my back, I gripped her arm. Without warning, I blinked her into the containment module in the brig before blinking back to grab the boys. An emotion I couldn't quite place swelled behind her eyes. Intrigue— perhaps. As the black cloud at my feet dissipated, I called to Gideon, "Call Rip."

   Right away, Ms. Luna.

   It didn't take long for the Captain to join us in the defining silence. He released a sigh as his hands settled on his hips disapprovingly, "There I was, thinking we could go a whole week without kidnapping anyone."

   His accusatory eyes landed on Snart and Rory. They turned their attention to me, for once, their actions not being the cause.

   "I think you'll find it would have been better to simply kill me."

   "I agree," Mick huffed.

   "Oh, believe me, I was tempted," I thumbed Kendra's bracelet out of my pocket and offered it to Rip, "But it's a bit more complicated than that. She knew who they were."

   Turning her sharp gaze from me, she looked at Rip, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Gareeb."

   The Captain scoffed, "I see Savage has been rather chatty with his lieutenants."

   As Rip stepped closer to the glass, she tracked him with her eyes, "If you think I'm just Savage's soldier, you're more idiomatic than he claimed."

   She matched his steps forward and lowered her chin, "I'm not his lieutenant. I'm his daughter."

—

   The team gathered in the parlor. Lazily, I leaned against Sara's side. Palmer shook his daily green juice in one hand as he finally joined us. He was still catching up on the newly found identity of our prisoner in holding.

   "So Vandal Savage has a daughter?"

   "Apparently," I cringed, "I find it really hard to believe that someone procreated with him."

   "There's a lid for every pot," Martin joined my grimace.

   "And this lid is gonna be very upset when he finds out that we took his pot," Everyone turned to Jax after his rambling metaphor. He shrugged, "You know what I mean."

   "So what's the problem? It's not like we're on Savage's Christmas card list," Leonard chimed in, his ringed finger upturned.

   "And we snagged the bracelet. You guys are welcome by the way," I joined in, "We need to weaponize it before Savage realizes it and his daughter are missing."

   "I can help with that," Kendra began. She tilted her head toward Mick, "But I'm gonna need you to burn something for me."

   "It's 'bout time," Mick quipped.

   "We also need to figure out what we're going to do with our new guest," Rip hummed, pressing his palms into the desk in front of him.

   "Not to state the obvious, she's seen us and the ship," I interjected.

   "If she runs back to Savage, we're giving him a huge advantage." Sara finished for me.

   "So we make her our advantage," Mick reasoned, "We send Papa Savage a finger. And we keep sending them till he puts his own head on the chopping block."

   Martin's face contorted at the violent offer posed by Mick, "That is a positively lurid idea. I know we're in the midst of a war, but can't we maintain our honor?"

   "I'd rather maintain my life, professor," Mick argued.

   "Setting gorilla tactics aside, if she really is Savage's daughter, then she would know the details of his defenses. Would she not?" I asked.

   "Yes, but how would we get those details out of her?" Sara sat beside me.

   "I'm on it," Snart dismissed himself and quickly walked down the stairs.

   "Do we trust him?" Martin looked at the group.

   "I don't care enough to stop him," I laughed.

THIRTY TWO.

EXPLANATION

[ London, 2166 ]

   THE SECOND WE STEP FOOT ON THE SHIP, Rip bitched about our recklessness on the mission. I paid it no mind; to be fair, no one else did either. The group gathered in the parlor to discuss steps moving forward. Kendra pulled up a composite sketch generated by Gideon.

   "My bracelet— I was wearing it the night of my first death."

   "That's great," Ray chirped, "I mean, not the death part. That's terrible."

   I eyed him, and he coughed his awkwardness away, "You told us that objects present on the night of your death could be used to kill Savage. I listen, I'm your fiancée."

   I gagged, and Sara nudged me, "And that's sweet, but there's still one small problem. It's a bracelet; how are you supposed to kill Savage with it?"

   "Good question," Rip countered as he sauntered down the parlor stairs.

   "It wasn't rhetorical," Sara argued as he left.

   Kendra crossed her arms as Rip requested that Ray and me follow him. She looked at me, "Any ideas?"

   "You're on your own, tweety."

   I patted her shoulder encouragingly before passing by. Sara looked at me with disdain in her eye, and I grimaced, "Sorry, pal."

—

   "Catch."

   Ray tossed a chocolate bar in my direction. With ease, I caught it. Eyeing it curiously, I frowned, "What's this for?"

   "Consider it a peace offering."

   As I unwrapped the foil around it, I greedily bit into a square, "Why do I need a peace offering from you?"

   "For what I'm about to say," He flipped the flashlight in his hands from one palm to the other, "I think you should talk things out with Rip."

   "Did he send you in here?" I asked, disbelief coating my tongue.

    Ray shook his head no, "I came of my own free will. Scouts honor. I just— hate seeing you like this. If there is a route to reconciliation, I think—"

   "Ray, I appreciate your concern... but I'm not sure I'm ready to speak to the Captain."

   "You're still processing. I know the secrecy hurt you."

   "Wasn't pleasant," I huffed as I slid one of the many knives on the bench into its designated sheath on my calf.

   "We care about you, Xo. Speaking for myself... I'd hate to lose you."

   "You won't lose me, Palmer. Just because Rip has abandoned his morals doesn't mean I will. You guys have grown on me. I'm gonna finish what I started, I'd hate to break my promise."   

   "Would it kill you to call us your friends?" Ray smiled coyly.

   "Actually, I think it would."

   He snorted, and his smile reached his eyes, "I think Rory's attitude is rubbing off on you."

   "Believe me, Palmer, my sarcasm is all my own."

   "Oh, I believe it."

—

   Rip walked a few paces in front of us, his flashlight lighting the way. It only took a few blinks for my eyes to adjust to the darkness around us. Trees and bushes lined the open field that the Captain guided us through. Why we were out in the open is beyond me. I had to suppress a few chuckles as Martin flinched at every little noise made by the greenery around us. Bugs chittered and flew near his face every few minutes.

   Martin practically dove away when a moth landed on his glasses. He apologized after using Jax as a human shield. The captain spoke over his shoulder in our direction after the group silently laughed, "Thank you all for accompanying me on this excursion."

   "No problem," Jax breathily spoke after adjusting his jacket collar, "I just love hiking through the woods in the middle of World War III."

   "What if, instead of encountering these resistance fighters, we meet up with more of Savage's forces?" Ray asked.

   "Why else do you think I brought along my heavy hitters?"

   My head turned to the sound of a twig snapping. Bright lights rumbled on, blinding me for a few seconds. People began to shout commands, and the team shifted to a defensive stance. Jax raised his hands in defeat, and I rolled to the balls of my feet, ready to attack if they did.

   "Give me one reason why we shouldn't blow you straight to hell."

   "Better yet, give her several good reasons," The professor interjected.

   I subtly moved to grip Ray's arm, ready to blink if need be. But the tensions died when Rip mentioned that his wife and son lived in Whitechapel. The woman who seemed to lead the group shared a sympathetic look with Rip, "It was hit hard."

   "I know. The same fate will befall you if you don't accept our help."

   "How do we know you're not with Savage?"

   "Because if we were, you'd be dead right now," the Captain countered, "Look, feel free to shoot us, but from the looks of it, you could use all the allies you could get."

   The woman took a few seconds to think over his offer. When she accepted, the group around her lowered their weapons at her command. She gave us all a once-over before jutting her chin to the vehicles behind her.

   "Our base camp isn't too far from here. Hop on, we'll ride back together."

   "Splendid." Martin lowered his hands, and we all followed Rip's lead.

   Piling into various seats, we drove to their setup. The closer we got, the more my chest grew heavy. There was darkness here, and it loomed over the dimly lit encampment. It was weighted, and it clouded whatever hope remained. These people were grieving and mourning, most of them women and children. Ray noticed the shift and asked if I was alright. I told him I was good and forced it aside.

   We filed out in a line, the group we traveled with breaking up and taking up stations elsewhere around and in the camp. The rebel leader, Shaw, spoke with Rip and Jax, and I observed from behind.

   "Whitechapel fell 11 days ago. We have a lot of refugees. Do you think your wife and son are among them?"

   "Sadly, I'm confident that they're not."

   Shaw stopped, a knowing sadness crossing her eyes. Before she could offer her condolences, Rip spoke, "Still, we would like to help in whatever way we can."

   She nodded once, "Very well; get yourselves acclimated, and I'll rejoin you shortly."

   A pair of men whisked her away, and the group slowly broke away from one another. Marty watched as Jax and I noticed a mother holding her child. The young girl clung to her mother's tattered jacket. Removing the chocolate bar from my pocket, I walked toward them.

   "Here, maybe you two can share it."

   The girl beamed at the treat and looked at her mom eagerly. She thanked us quietly, and two more children rushed over. My mouth fell open when they held out their hands.

   "Uh," I looked at the boys behind me, "I'll be back."

   I moved away from the group and blinked at the ship. I quickly had Gideon fabricate dozens of chocolate bars before returning to the rebels' base camp. I gave Jackson Martin handfuls, and I kept a few for myself. I traveled deeper into the community, offering candy to every child I saw.

   "Thank you," a boy missing his front teeth gushed.

   His father looked at me with tears in his eyes, "I haven't seen that smile in a week. Thank you."

   A lump formed in my throat, and I nodded, "Of course. Here, take one."

   He stashed his own bar in his pocket before ushering his son back to his mom. I stood, a sadness prickling my chest. I wandered a bit further, keeping my head low. The wind nipped at the thin sleeves of my shirt. I huddled around a nearby trash can fire and allowed its warmth to rid me of the chill that stuck to me. The eeriness that surrounded these people was enough of a distraction for me not to notice Rip the second he stepped beside me.

  Neither of us moved or tried anything today. We just stood there. Stillness settled around us, even amongst the noisy camp. When the Captain tucked his arms in and opened his mouth to speak, I spoke first.

   "Rip, I already told you once I really don't want to talk to you about this."

   "I feel like I owe you a proper explanation."

   "Tell me, how are you gonna talk your way out of this one?"

   "Will you actually allow me to speak, or will you storm off before I can get my first sentence out?"

   "'M still deciding."

   I eyed the fire, my mind wandering to the flames that consumed Cygnus for a brief second. The image of my younger self's confused face forced me to blink and focus on something else... anything else.

   "Please do your best not to kill me," he was directing his words toward me, but I was still staring in front of him.

   "I am very sorry for hiding your brother's location from you, Xo. It was selfish of me, and I greatly apologize," he cautiously took a step closer as if he were approaching a cat that startled easily.

   "My selfishness has reared its ugly head once more. I loathe that it is driving a wedge between us. I fully had the intention of sharing his location with you, and I did, but I was going to wait until after we successfully defeated Savage. But now I see that, in hindsight, that was incredibly ignorant of me. I realize that I can keep apologizing to you, but at the end of the day, it is your decision whether or not to forgive me.

   "After seeing you and your brother reunited, it only made my shame and guilt hurt that much more. I deprived you of that reunification, and I am so sorry. You did not deserve that delay. I realize that I was scared that you'd leave once you found Daniel. I prioritized your abilities and how they could help my cause above all else... and I'm sorry.

    "I apologize for causing you pain, anguish, and turmoil. I'm glad that you both found each other, and I apologize for it being under the circumstances that it was."

   Rip fell silent for a second. His hands anxiously shoved into the pockets of his trenchcoat, and his eyes diverted to the ground. There was obvious sincerity in his voice, every few words accompanied by a tremble.

   A part of me saw his shame for what it was— a stupid decision made out of selfishness. That half understood his desperation and need to prioritize his family and killing Savage. That part of me cannot fault him for that because I understood that pain. We're all inherently selfish. But the other side was finding it very hard to feel forgiveness for him.

   Rip knew I needed answers to questions I had been asking for quite a while. And he chose to hide them from me. Someone I trusted. That hurt was blatant. He willingly chose to deceive me.

   "I've bled for you, I've almost died for you. But all that means nothing to me. I've almost died for less. What hurts the most is that I willingly gave my trust, and you betrayed it. I don't do that very often. On multiple occasions, I have forgiven your lapse of judgment, your arrogance, and your selfishness... I have been nothing but a loyal member of this team... and this is how you repay me? You knew what finding Danny meant to me.

   "You saw firsthand the things Connell did... how they separated us. You know what finding him would do, and yet you chose to withhold information that would help me find him. You kept me in the dark. I trusted you. How can you expect me to forgive so easily?"

   Rip exhaled, defeat washing over him. The firelight reflected off of the sweat that developed on his brow. His shoulders slumped, and his chin bowed, "I'm not asking for your forgiveness, Xo. You deserved an explanation, and I gave it to you."

   "It's the least you could have done."

   "I understand that."

   "I will work with you, Rip, but not for you. Not anymore. Not after seeing how easily your judgment puts others at risk. We came here to stop Savage... and I plan to do just that," I closed my eyes and allowed the darkness to comfort me, "So... do you have a plan?"

   "Of sorts. I will need your assistance in acquiring Kendra's bracelet—"

   "All right, what are you all playing?" Shaw snuck behind us and pointed accusingly at us, "I retina-scanned the five of you. There's no record of you two anywhere, and your friends disappeared 150 years ago."

   "Well, believe me when I tell you it would take about that much time for us to tell you the whole story. But the most important thing is that we get as close to Vandal Savage as possible."

   Shaw shook her head, "No one gets close to Savage, especially not now. Some idiots made an attempt on his life earlier tonight," I could tell Rip turned his gaze. We were indeed the idiots, "He's gone to ground in the citadel's bunker, and he's holed up good and tight."

   From the transceiver strapped to her thigh, a voice cracked over the speaker. Screams echoed behind the voice as it radioed that Delta Camp was under attack. They shouted for air support, and I tensed.

   "Go," I told the Captain, "I'll round up the boys and send Ray with you. I'll start thinking of a way to get the ball rolling on the bracelet plan."