The Sharpest Lives

gravitywon:

“I remember,” he slurs and he doesn’t have to think about that answer. He knows it. He’s known it for a long time. After Eli had left, after his brother had died, Naomi had been the one who’d stuck around. When Bruno didn’t want to talk, when Lia was absent more than she was around, it was Naomi who he’d turned to more than anyone. More than Seamus, more than any other member of the Syndicate could really offer. So he remembers. How they’d spilled blood together, how they’ve watched out for each other, how she took a bullet for him and he doesn’t know if he’s ever gotten the chance to return the favor for any of it. Doesn’t think anything he’s done even comes close to what she had given him. 

He answers her question even though she didn't expect him to. The fact that Naomi had his back was carved in stone at this point. Anyone in there ranks could probably see it even though it wasn’t something she talked about at all since she rather let her actions speak on her behalf. There was a small bullet sized patch of skin just over her heart that was one shade lighter the rest of her that spoke to that. The thought has never crossed her mind and even if it did she's not sure what she do with it, but Jackson was both her greatest strength and weakness in a way.

The phone is handed over easily and Charlie covers the screen with a curved hand, latex still covering her fingers to keep them concealed, as she stares at the sketch. Friday is talented, is her first thought because it does resemble the man he kicked down the door and made demands of them. Her suspicions of him are confirmed. She stood in front of him, had a conversation with that man. She had his phone number because he held sketches out, one of the woman beside her. The Initiative’s Friday is less talented, and probably not holding an ability in their DNA. But his face stands as a warning that none of them heeded. “Shit,” she mumbles under her breath as she hands the phone back, “Does she have any more drawings of him?”

“I didn’t see any more of him. When I looked at her sketchbook it was mostly just a bunch of stuff I didn’t understand, a shit ton of boxing gloves, for some reason, and then him.” she sighed as she leaned against the wall behind her, her eyes locked onto the lawn in front of her. “I wish she would’ve have drawn something clearer like me getting the shit kicked out of me by him in a god damn alley or at least that shit that happened in the tavern... Maybe we could have been ready if that was the case.” It’s an unfair statement since it seemed like Friday couldn’t control what she drew, but then again these days she was wishing she had more information so she would arm herself with that knowledge. Sometimes she could still feel the pain from the blows she received from him even though the evidence of the damage was completely gone now. “You seen him before the attack?”

Ashten followed after Naomi, would have still gone outside regardless of whether the woman wanted her there or not. If they had to be at the Estate, then Ashten would stick around, but she couldn’t be standing around inside for much longer. Honestly, she wanted to be out in the city, do whatever she could to gather more information so they could find Ailie and Rhys as well as any of the others that had been taken. She understood why they had to wait; Eli and another mutant had been brought in with gunshot wounds, Jackson was beaten to all hell, and everyone else was shaken up from what happened. It would take a while for them to recover before they made a move.

"Tell me something I don't know." Naomi grumbled. The animosity in her voice is in no way directed towards Ashten, but more so towards just the situation as whole. About how utterly helpless she felt as the days went by. About how she wanted to do something now, but she had no idea how even begin or proceed. About how she was more paralyzed than most because she was one of two of LA's most wanted and in more danger than Jackson because the Initiative knew who she was, still had her on file, and was apparently still looking for her.

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The position she stands in is a sharp contrast to where she was a week ago, uninterested in a war, or even staying in Los Angeles. Both might be true, but there’s a fresh urge for blood making her teeth sharper, and those options far removed. It’s part of why they haven’t left the estate since they dragged Nick’s body here, the other having everything to do with staying close to Elijah in case he tried to die on them again. But it’s left her little else to do in those moments while they’re sleeping, and she can’t justify hovering as though that alone will make Nick’s skin knit back together faster. She steps out the back just in time to hear the quiet threat. “Who?”

There’s a strong urge to just chuck the phone because it has little use to Naomi now. After their strike and the news reports featuring her and Jackson’s faces, she stopped using it out of fear someone could track her if she made a call. The only reason why she kept it was because of the photo she took of Friday’s sketchbook. The voice that addresses her is somewhat unfamiliar and has her tensing subconsciously. The Syndicate was her family and any one outside that family in these trying times was going to be looked under a microscope. Still she doesn’t see any problem letting this woman know.“The Corinthian.” she states simply as she drops her hand to her side. That’s when Naomi turns and actually takes a look at the woman. “You’re from the bowling alley...” Naomi says slowly as the memory filters through her brain. in light of everything that had happened, that simple game they shared seemed like ages ago. Like happened in a completely different life time. But then again, it might as well have. Things were so much simpler then. 

Charlie has zero plans to leave the Estate. Not with Eli still out of commission and only a few of them collecting at the Selvaggio home. There’s still people missing, like Ailie and she hates how much fear that chokes her with. None of them should be in the Initiative’s confines, but especially not Ailie. She doesn’t know if that kind heart could survive in there. A bit of sunlight might clear her head but it only blinds her vision, eyes squinting against the brightness as she steps up next to Naomi, missing whatever words she mumbled to her phone. “What’s that?” she asks, tipping her head in the direction of the picture she can barely make out as her hand presses against the butterfly stitches keeping the slice on her forehead closed.

If Naomi had been gifted with the ability of laser vision, her glare would have surely destroyed the mobile device in her hand ten times over. And if she did have laser vision, she’d stand at the correct distance away and fire a red hot beam right into that Corinthian’s head. As much as she wants to think about the more than satisfying image of having that Corinthian dead at her feet, Charlie’s familiar voice interrupts her thoughts. Naomi lifts her gaze, lowers her phone or a moment, but the glare in her eyes remained. The further on they went in with this war, Naomi’s was certain that the look would remain stuck on her face.... but then again that wouldn’t be much different than house she was before all this started. “Picture of the Corinthian,” Naomi explained as she handed the phone over to Charlie. “Friday drew it before he even showed up here I think.” 

Jackson swallows thickly, nodding his head. At least she was okay. He knew she healed, but it didn’t mean it didn’t hurt when she got hit. There’s still the memory of her taking a bullet in the heart. But she’d come back from that, just as she’d come back from anything, he believed. She starts wiping blood from his face, pressing the towel against where the worse of it had stuck to his skin. He lets her do what she wants, too dazed still to do much else. There’s another memory in his mind, though, and his eyes focus on her, despite being glassy and glazed. “You got me out.” It comes out as a statement and he means it as one. It’s not a question. It’s a statement of fact. But there’s an underlying meaning to him saying it. It’s a thank you. The feel of a hood over his head, of cuffs around his wrist and he knows he could have just as easily been sitting in an Initiative van or facility right now. It’s always been a possibility for him, but just how close he’d come awoke a new sort of fear in him for it. They don’t know his name, otherwise the Estate would be swarming right now. He wants to keep it that way. He doesn’t ever want to be in their hands, he has a family to protect. 

It was one thing to be in a firefight, knowing that any second your could die and that would be it, Naomi could deal with that and she fairly certain that it was a sort of chaos that she was painfully familiar with. Maybe even at peace with. However, it was a different thing to deal with the sight of Jackson being black bagged and dragged off. If she and Seamus hadn’t shown up and gone through the back, there was a strong chance that Jackson’s name would be among the missing. She’s not sure what she would do then and she doesn’t want to think about what they would do to him if he were captured. They were the ones that the Iniative was looking for after all.  “Of course. I always got your back, remember?” she says quietly as she presses the cool towel to an open cut on his face. 

The oncoming silhouetted shadow halted, replacing his attention from the ground to its change in pace. The shade revealed a slender figure, startled by something that wasn’t fear like Orion may have expected. Instinctively, his gaze switched on his surroundings. But her eyes were on him, and there was no lurking danger that could have caused her sudden altered route. He straightened, smashed the lit cigarette against the brick beside him, and stepped closer. The last time he’d seen her features had been at a sprint; charging at heavy steel doors sliding shut. He had rescued at least a hundred that day, but he would have traded back himself for her broken freedom. His fist had slammed into a mechanical exterior, left a gaping dent as he cursed at her captors from the other side. He knew what it was like to be devastatingly close to escape, and then drown in its failing catastrophe.

There’s not a whole lot that can make Naomi freeze in place. She had seen the worst that humanity had to offer and then some during those long years in confinement. After everything she saw and experienced, Naomi had hardened into steel on the outside and she liked to think she gave off a convincing facade that she was unbreakable even though behind the scenes she was anything but. Everything she did was carefully planned so that no one would see those breaks or those vulnerable moments from her, but in this moment any thought to keep up a straight face was completely forgotten. Her eyes were wide with a mixture of astonishment and fear and her jaw was slightly slack as she tried to rationalize what she was seeing in front of her.

“I’ve been thinking,” she replied, “about as much as anyone else has been doing in here. I hate having to wait.” Like Naomi, Ashten too wanted to do something. She knew what it was like within Initiative walls, knew the horros inflicted on mutants from personal experience. And knowing that there were other Syndicate members and allies alike stuck inside? Ashten wanted to do her part to help get them out as quickly as possible. She wanted to leave, figure things out on her own, but they had been called to the Estate by Gwen. And until they would figure out where their new facility was, no one could do much.

As Naomi neared the doors, she was actually mildly surprised that Ashten seemed keen on following her. To be honest, she thought the woman would be more than happy to brood by the window and remain immovable while she spoke up to anyone that came near her.  While Naomi did want to be alone for a minute and to be surrounded by silence instead of having to deal with the panic in people’s voices or that damn Connor kid yelling and running his mouth for a fraction of a second, she didn’t exactly have it in her to turn Ashten away.