All Are Punished

There was a long pause from Romeo. His girl? Timber? She wasn’t a commodity to barter with. Not his right-hand man. Not his girl.

He rubbed his face and took a long look at Timber. Family always came first, and she was family. She was more than just family to him. In his dreams, that was the girl he was going to retire with, away from the city and by the water somewhere. No one could attack them from behind with their backs to the water.

If he refused, his family would be killed one by one. It was safer to have her alive and well, if not with him, at least she would be with someone safe.

“She’ll need assistance packing her things. When will she need to be ready?”

There had been shock in Timber’s features the moment Negan mentioned her–added her to sweeten the pot. It was difficult to tell if he was just trying to get a rise out of Romeo or…or if he genuinely wanted her to come back with him to Boston. Her money was on the former. The shock only deepened the moment Romeo agreed, her head snapping to the side to look at him. 

That, of course, made Negan grin all the more. Just exactly what he’d wanted, in the end. Romeo wrapped around his finger, he got his Blue-Eyes back…and there was hesitation. In the end, maybe Romeo would fight. Maybe. Wouldn’t count too much on it, though.

Romeo knew that he was in a bind and under this man’s thumb. The laundry mats, he can do without. Hell, it wouldn’t be too hard to start more once the laundry mats are down. The Hooligan, however, that would be difficult. He could find another boxer, not one like him, and probably not as good as him, but it’s his little friends. Romeo gave him a place big enough for two people. There was protection for his friends, that girl, that friend–was Threads his name? He couldn’t remember, but his girl was a package deal. There was the weird one as well.

The weird one…

That would be a fun addition. It almost made him smirk. Almost…

“You can have the laundromats. Though, I fear The Hooligan is not a one-man deal. His friends are under my protection. However, they would provide ample entertainment as they are musicians.”

“Did I ask about his friends?” He arched a dark brow at Romeo, then glanced back to his men as if confirming the fact that he hadn’t. When he returned his attention back to Romeo, he was once again appearing amused. “I don’t give a fuck about them. Though one of our guys did just keel over–fiddle player. Talented guy, not a great shot.”

He shrugged, even if he did sense the deal was swaying into Romeo’s favor again. There was something about the way he said it that rubbed Negan the wrong way, as if he knew something that Negan didn’t. While it might be worth the extra weight for the entertainment value, he didn’t like taking a pistol carrying blanks. Speaking of entertainment value, though…

“I have to say, it all sounds peachy. Laundromats, gambling dens, a boxer and his musical friends–all wrapped up in a pretty little bow. I appreciate that.” He took another drag, setting the cigar into the ashtray. “Y’know what would really seal the deal?” He grinned. 

He rubbed his face and took a long look at Timber. Family always came first, and she was family. She was more than just family to him. In his dreams, that was the girl he was going to retire with, away from the city and by the water somewhere. No one could attack them from behind with their backs to the water.

If he refused, his family would be killed one by one. It was safer to have her alive and well, if not with him, at least she would be with someone safe.

“All she had to do was wear a corset and flutter her lashes.” Reds said bitterly as he removed the steak from his eye. Of course, that wasn’t the case with Timber. Reds was just bitter that he got into a fight with someone who said his wife was a whore, much like all the women associated with the Blue Knife Gang.

Romeo turned around to face both Timber and Reds. “You should have Edith take a look at your eye.”

Reds didn’t need further elaboration. He knew where he wasn’t wanted, and it was obvious that Romeo wanted time with Timber. Edith already looked at his eye and provided the steak.

“Fine.” He muttered before slamming the door shut.

Romeo leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving Negan’s. He felt as if he was suffocating from the silence. It was a deal that, in the end, would affect his family, his standing in New York. He never agreed with anything without discussing with Reds, The Professor, and of course, Timber. It wasn’t a one-man show. Besides, Romeo hated surprises.

“I would rather hear what you would like now, so I can discuss it with the gang. We value transparency.”

At this, Negan chuckled--a low, condescending sound as he reclined again, toying with Lucille’s handle. “I bet you do...” He replied, not immediately going back to business. Rather, he liked to see Romeo squirm. It meant this mattered. It meant he was desperate. Everything was in Negan’s hands right now, if he wanted it to be. 

“Remind me who is in charge of your gang, Foley?” He asked, tilting his head slightly. “Who makes the final say? I can go talk to them instead, if you want. You’re behind the pretty desk, but are you gonna make the choices that aren’t so pretty? I don’t know about you. You know me. I don’t sugarcoat my shit, do I? You, though. I don’t know you from fuckin’ Adam, and you’re here, like you’re in charge of this situation. You’re not.” He shook his head. “Not anymore. That’s over and done with.”

“All she had to do was wear a corset and flutter her lashes.” Reds said bitterly as he removed the steak from his eye. Of course, that wasn’t the case with Timber. Reds was just bitter that he got into a fight with someone who said his wife was a whore, much like all the women associated with the Blue Knife Gang.

Romeo turned around to face both Timber and Reds. “You should have Edith take a look at your eye.”

Reds didn’t need further elaboration. He knew where he wasn’t wanted, and it was obvious that Romeo wanted time with Timber. Edith already looked at his eye and provided the steak.

“Fine.” He muttered before slamming the door shut.

Romeo’s eyes glanced down at the bat for half a second before leaning back in his seat. He put the cigar to his lips and took a long puff before resting it on the ashtray. “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t need help, Negan.” The words weren’t the easiest to say, and it took a few moments for them to formulate from his tongue and spill out from his lips.

“We’re willing to negotiate. Midtown, the Bowery and our Dance Hall, plus the various gambling halls located there. The most being in The Bowery.”

There was bravery in setting aside one’s pride to get shit done, and Negan wasn’t immune to what it meant for Romeo. He could see the younger man working through the gravity of his current situation, and it wasn’t easy, but it was necessary. Well, necessary as far as Negan saw it. Necessary in that once pride was set aside, they could collaborate far better than if it wasn’t.

“Midtown, the Bowery...dance hall.” He pursed his lips, sitting forward slightly to rest his elbows on his knees, meeting Romeo’s eye. “Money’s only so good as my men surviving to see the fuckin’ stash, ain’t it? This is what you have for me?”

“All she had to do was wear a corset and flutter her lashes.” Reds said bitterly as he removed the steak from his eye. Of course, that wasn’t the case with Timber. Reds was just bitter that he got into a fight with someone who said his wife was a whore, much like all the women associated with the Blue Knife Gang.

Romeo turned around to face both Timber and Reds. “You should have Edith take a look at your eye.”

Reds didn’t need further elaboration. He knew where he wasn’t wanted, and it was obvious that Romeo wanted time with Timber. Edith already looked at his eye and provided the steak.

“Fine.” He muttered before slamming the door shut.

Romeo made his bed and now he must lie in it, with the largest bed bug of all. He clenched his jaw once more, trying not to let Negan notice how he dug under his skin. Unfortunately, the way he held his glass when he looked at Timber made his knuckles turn white.

“Italian,” Romeo said simply. “We thought it was the Sicilian Stallions and although they’re celebrating in the streets, they’re too stupid to pull it off. Our intel believes it has something to do with the Bianchi’s.”

Reds looked at the service that was given to Negan. No way in hell he was going to clip Romeo’s cigar and light it for him. It was the evil gaze from Ethel that made his face go red in anger. Before he could pull out the cigar clipper, Romeo had already pulled his own out.

Romeo didn’t need anyone to clip and light his own cigar. He wanted to display his independence, and his willingness to get his hands dirty.

“Well...” Negan drawled, seemingly pleased that Romeo had come right out and said it. Had he known for sure that it was the Bianchi family behind this? No--nothing was ever 100% sure in this business. Hearsay, the wrong little birds in just the right little ears--but he’d had a feeling. The Bianchi family was a particular thorn in his side that he’d been digging at for years. This had their name written all over it. “Ain’tcha the sharp tack? What’d I say, Simon?” He glanced back to the mustachioed man, assumed to be his second. “I said they’d be sharp.”

“As a tack, your words exactly, boss.” Said Simon, watching Reds’ expression with curiosity. Timber stared at him in turn, not enjoying the look on his face. If she had her way, he’d be choking on something bigger than a cigar.

“As a goddamn tack.” Negan agreed, pleased. He finally straightened in his seat, setting the glass aside in favor of setting Lucille, his bat, over his lap. “You shoot straight from the hip, Foley, and I appreciate that, so I’ll do the same. Bianchi is just the current fish in your pond, but he’s got his greedy little fucking fins everywhere and I’ve been waiting to snag that particular bastard for a long fucking time. You’re not the only ones he took people from.”

“All she had to do was wear a corset and flutter her lashes.” Reds said bitterly as he removed the steak from his eye. Of course, that wasn’t the case with Timber. Reds was just bitter that he got into a fight with someone who said his wife was a whore, much like all the women associated with the Blue Knife Gang.

Romeo turned around to face both Timber and Reds. “You should have Edith take a look at your eye.”

Reds didn’t need further elaboration. He knew where he wasn’t wanted, and it was obvious that Romeo wanted time with Timber. Edith already looked at his eye and provided the steak.

“Fine.” He muttered before slamming the door shut.

Romeo spent most of his days pacing around his office, keeping the peace with the lower soldiers. Everyone was on edge as more whispers went through the streets about the downfall of the Blue Knife Gang. Opposing gangs were more brazen, often trying to stir up trouble with his soldiers. The Professor was laid up in bed, a bandage wrapped around his head.

“A brain commotion, sir. I’ll be working in no time, once the two of you return to one body. Though I must inform you that book reading and light will most definitely increase recovery. It will be darkness and rest for a day or so.” The day or so ended up being a week. He was the best informant they had with unmatchable street smarts and common sense.

He was relieved when Timber returned, but not so ecstatic to see boots on his mahogony desk. The throbbing of his jaw was evidence to his displeasure, and it was the act of pleasantry which made him feel much like a beggar in his first days in New York.

“Mr. Smith.” He said nodding over to Reds. Reds was quick to take out two glasses to pour the best scotch, but he wasn’t happy about it. “I’m sure you’re aware of the incident at our Christmas celebration.” Romeo explained. His eyes flashed at Timber before returning to the King of Boston. “This gang has been gradually taking over my territory and killing my men.”

Reds reached into Romeo’s desk and pulled out a box of cigars, offering one to Romeo and one to Negan.

“Mr. Smith? Jee-SUS, we’re not sticking with that level of formality, are we?” He didn’t yet respond to Romeo’s concerns, affixing a carefree smile on his face that had certainly won over a few hearts. He reached for his glass, turning that same smile to Reds--that one was going to be fun, he could just tell--before nodding to one of his own men. From within his man’s jacket he pulled his own cigar clipper, fixing and lighting the smoke for his boss without a word between them. Just another part of the show.

For a moment, Negan simply reclined, seeming all too happy to simply enjoy the gifts bestowed and relax. “Mighty fine time, indeed.” He murmured, sipping from his glass. “You sure have taste, Foley. Fine scotch, fine smokes, fine desk and fine office.” He turned his gaze to Timber, his grin growing. “Fine taste in everything.”

Eventually, his gaze broke, and he seemed to remember the topic at hand. He nodded to himself, having the decency to at least seem somber about the events that had occurred. “Unfortunate business, that. My condolences to you for the loss of what I’m sure was a irreplaceable crew. Never easy to let ‘em go at the best of times, and here you are, scraping the bottom of the barrel. We don’t have to pretend, if you don’t want, that we’re not gonna be braiding each other’s hair before bed. But an Irish life lost is an Irish life this world should’ve been grateful for. A waste. Absolute waste.”

"Italian," Romeo said simply. "We thought it was the Sicilian Stallions and although they're celebrating in the streets, they're too stupid to pull it off. Our intel believes it has something to do with the Bianchi's."

Reds looked at the service that was given to Negan. No way in hell he was going to clip Romeo's cigar and light it for him. It was the evil gaze from Ethel that made his face go red in anger. Before he could pull out the cigar clipper, Romeo had already pulled his own out.

“All she had to do was wear a corset and flutter her lashes.” Reds said bitterly as he removed the steak from his eye. Of course, that wasn’t the case with Timber. Reds was just bitter that he got into a fight with someone who said his wife was a whore, much like all the women associated with the Blue Knife Gang.

Romeo turned around to face both Timber and Reds. “You should have Edith take a look at your eye.”

Reds didn’t need further elaboration. He knew where he wasn’t wanted, and it was obvious that Romeo wanted time with Timber. Edith already looked at his eye and provided the steak.

“Fine.” He muttered before slamming the door shut.

Romeo sighed heavily. Of course, Timber and Reds weren’t pawns. In his life, they were worth protecting and sacrificing some of his shoulders to protect. “I…” He stopped. The words weren’t bouncing off the tip of his tongue like he wanted to. He wanted to tell her that she was more to him than a pawn and that he did trust her instincts and advice she had to give. These feelings he had were something he didn’t know what to do with.

“Do what you must to keep Negan complacent.” He said as he leaned back in his chair. “But I need you to report everything you say and do to me as well as what he says. No doubt he will find a loophole.” He didn’t break his gaze away from her. “I don’t have to tell you to don’t do anything stupid, but relay the message to Reds. His anger will get the best of him.”

“His anger is gonna get the best of all of us.” She muttered. “Don’t worry, I’ll show him a good time, but not that good.” 

It wasn’t too long after Timber left Romeo’s offices that word of The Saviors arriving began to spread. The gang, typically the epitome of strength and power, were walking on eggshells. They’d been warned within an inch of their life to behave themselves--that anything done could be seen as a slight and bad on the entire gang--but they had also heard through the grapevine of the many, many horrors the Saviors were capable of. They knew this was important. After all, the Blue Knives and the Saviors had never been in the same space before where there wasn’t a fight.

Ever the hostesses, Edith and Timber ensured the power from Boston was made to feel welcome. Teams were dispatched to show lodgings, other amenities promised. Drinks flowed and food piled aplenty, and very slowly the gang began to relax, feeling more secure in their standing. That wouldn’t last for long. 

Before long the leader, bigger than life himself, sauntered through with his bat on his shoulder. His men, the gang all grew quiet--out of respect? Out of fear? Timber couldn’t tell but perhaps it was both. It had only been worse during her time with Cobb in Boston. She didn’t fancy the same in her home court.

She did her duty--smiling, playing coy, offering company just short of what was really wanted. And, as she was asked, reported the lot to Romeo. That was, until it was time for the heads to meet. She stood at his side, Reds at the other and Cobb at the door as Edith led Negan and his men in. 

Negan, for his part, played his role well. His grin was amused almost playful as he sat in his chair, swinging his legs up to rest boots on Romeo’s desk. As far as he was concerned, he owned this space now. 

"A brain commotion, sir. I'll be working in no time, once the two of you return to one body. Though I must inform you that book reading and light will most definitely increase recovery. It will be darkness and rest for a day or so." The day or so ended up being a week. He was the best informant they had with unmatchable street smarts and common sense.

He was relieved when Timber returned, but not so ecstatic to see boots on his mahogony desk. The throbbing of his jaw was evidence to his displeasure, and it was the act of pleasantry which made him feel much like a beggar in his first days in New York.

"Mr. Smith." He said nodding over to Reds. Reds was quick to take out two glasses to pour the best scotch, but he wasn't happy about it. "I'm sure you're aware of the incident at our Christmas celebration." Romeo explained. His eyes flashed at Timber before returning to the King of Boston. "This gang has been gradually taking over my territory and killing my men."

“All she had to do was wear a corset and flutter her lashes.” Reds said bitterly as he removed the steak from his eye. Of course, that wasn’t the case with Timber. Reds was just bitter that he got into a fight with someone who said his wife was a whore, much like all the women associated with the Blue Knife Gang.

Romeo turned around to face both Timber and Reds. “You should have Edith take a look at your eye.”

Reds didn’t need further elaboration. He knew where he wasn’t wanted, and it was obvious that Romeo wanted time with Timber. Edith already looked at his eye and provided the steak.

“Fine.” He muttered before slamming the door shut.

“You don’t have to remind me of Negan and his rules.” He said gruffly. Negan’s work seemed to be woven into newspapers. Obituaries of known enemies were posted weekly, if not daily. They never described the brutal murders or that any leads can contact the Boston Police. The Boston Police was practically in Negan’s back pocket and part of his payroll. No; these men always died peacefully in their sleep, surrounded by their love ones. If he really wanted to spice things up, he’d create a freak accident that would cause the Newsies to have a field day. They were always too good to be true, but just enough so let the read think, “it could happen.”

The vein in his jaw pulsated. Not having control ate at him and kept him up at night. At least he could take the brunt of the blame if something went wrong. If something went wrong and Timber [and Reds] were in the middle of it, it would be their necks first, and Negan would construct two obituaries to taunt Romeo.

“I know his game and it’s near impossible to beat.” He leaned against his desk, staring right back into her eyes. “And the last thing I need is two pawns that are the closest to me to handle it.”

Romeo had a strange way of showing affection and romantic appreciation without all clothes being on the floor. “Have you had The Professor analyze the situation?”

It had been a long shot, but Timber couldn’t help but sigh heavily. The stubbornness was only going to cause more problems, but try telling that to a man in charge. She folded her arms over her chest, defensive as he stared her down. She could fight it--argue, but the only thing that would do would be to raise their blood pressure and sow unease if the voices carried downstairs. The gang needed them to be level-headed and a unit.

“The Professor is keeping his nose out of the situation as much as he possibly can.” She finally mumbled, averting her eyes. “The Saviors didn’t do his family any favors and he remembers it enough to keep his head in the sand. He’d agree with me, by the way, but that’s not what you wanna hear.”

“Romeo, if you fake your own death, we can regroup and come back stronger than ever.”

Romeo started to put on some lotion to help the burns on his arms. He didn’t look too bad off from the front, but his back was a mess. Edith did her best to change the bandages, but he wouldn’t let her. It was the grumpiest she had ever seen him. She couldn’t blame him. His Christmas party went off with a bang (too soon) and they were incredibly lucky that they survived it. Yet tucked away in his own fortress, he stewed in anger, growled in pain, and had outrageous demands that could not be met. Not even Reds could calm him down.

“If I fake my own death, I show a weakness. I’m not weak, Professor. The Blue Knife Gang is not weak. We will show them, in the public eye, that we are stronger than them. That we survived the bullshit they called a bomb. We came back, wounded, yes, but not defeated.” He took his cane and stood up shakily. He was weak, physically. He could barely walk and pace his office in thought. The beam from the ceiling fell on his leg as he tried to shield Timber from any physical harm. It would take awhile to heal, but Romeo was impatient. He wanted to kill the bastards who broke the peace treaty. He wanted to watch the blood flow from their veins at his feet and watch as the light slowly went out of their eyes. He would sip his whiskey, delighting in the revenge before his eyes.

Romeo had nodded towards Cobb in thanks before he sat down behind his mahogany desk. “A few weeks…” He repeated. He nodded once again, to direct the soldiers from the room after the younger of the soldier refilled Timber’s drink.

“The corset can wait if you’re in pain.” He said, putting a cigar in his mouth. “You look…you look better than yesterday.” At least, in his eyes she did. Ethel was still laid up with a headache, some of his men were still moaning and groaning. Timber, though he wanted her to rest, was up on her feet and ready to raise hell.

“Did Reds give you any of the herbs for you to smoke? It’ll help with any pain.” He continued as he lit his cigar and took a deep inhale. It didn’t taste as well as it would have if the party was successful or to ease the pain of some of his soldiers getting killed. It just was something to use to keep him busy. He was confined to his office until a bigger story hit the news. It wouldn’t take too long before he can sit at the pub with a newspaper and a plan.

“You look like shit.” She replied, lifting a hand to rub at her eyes. She was exhausted, in all honesty. The pain hardly provided a restful sleep, even with the amount of medication the physicians had provided her with. Unconsciousness wasn’t the same as rest. Timber looked to Romeo now, watching him as he imbibed with a cigar. They’d been talking, she remembered vaguely. Talking and flirting--such as they did--when all Hell broke loose. She remembered him diving on her, dragging her down to the floor...and then nothing. Nothing at all until the hospital. The beam had landed on top of them, apparently, and the second blast sent its twin.

They were lucky to be alive. She was lucky he was still there, and she didn’t know how to say it.

“I am resting.” He said simply. He motioned to his desk to show that he was sitting. How could he rest when his soldiers were getting gunned down? His empire was crumbling faster than he thought possible, and he refused to let it go without a fight. “We have too much work to do to be sleeping the day away. My leg will heal.” He started searching through his files, the cigar resting on his ash tray. “And I’ll need you around, more than ever.” He looked up from his file, pushing it towards her.

“Romeo, if you fake your own death, we can regroup and come back stronger than ever.”

Romeo started to put on some lotion to help the burns on his arms. He didn’t look too bad off from the front, but his back was a mess. Edith did her best to change the bandages, but he wouldn’t let her. It was the grumpiest she had ever seen him. She couldn’t blame him. His Christmas party went off with a bang (too soon) and they were incredibly lucky that they survived it. Yet tucked away in his own fortress, he stewed in anger, growled in pain, and had outrageous demands that could not be met. Not even Reds could calm him down.

“If I fake my own death, I show a weakness. I’m not weak, Professor. The Blue Knife Gang is not weak. We will show them, in the public eye, that we are stronger than them. That we survived the bullshit they called a bomb. We came back, wounded, yes, but not defeated.” He took his cane and stood up shakily. He was weak, physically. He could barely walk and pace his office in thought. The beam from the ceiling fell on his leg as he tried to shield Timber from any physical harm. It would take awhile to heal, but Romeo was impatient. He wanted to kill the bastards who broke the peace treaty. He wanted to watch the blood flow from their veins at his feet and watch as the light slowly went out of their eyes. He would sip his whiskey, delighting in the revenge before his eyes.

Romeo never had to explain himself to Timber. It was incredibly obvious, but Romeo could not remember who had the head injuries. Maybe Cobb did hit his head. It wasn’t Timber, that was sure. “You raise an army of peasants. A loyal group who would sing like canaries when asked any questions. Why, the Blue Knife Gang doesn’t do us any harm? They help us.” He propped his elbow up on the mantle to keep his weight off of his bum leg.

“You have Ethel give us the finances and list of favors. I know Ernie at the Lumber Yard owes us, but we gotta know what we can and can’t do. Set boundaries for them, give them options. Pay some of their rent. Give them some…” He wanted to say ‘company,’ but he wouldn’t want Timber to do that. He would go to the whorehouse. They’d do anything for a nickel. Timber would castrate them.

“Timber,” Romeo gave her a sidelong glance. “Think you could wear a dress for a few weeks?”

Cobb would have been very happy to tell her where to shove it, but not only was he exhausted and in pain, but he was ready for the whole affair to be over. Not to mention he was fairly certain Timber would shoot him in her current state of mind. Business lingered forefront in his mind, and yet...

Well, nobody had told him how Mischief was. He’d all but leapt on her to shield her, and when all was said and done, she was taken away to the hospital. No one had told him what happened after that.

His brow arched. “A list of financials and favors.” He repeated, and began to shift from the room to accomplish his task.

Timber, however, was upset at the notion. She’d known the inquiry was coming; people tended to respond better to a feminine woman, gentle and welcoming. Timber wasn’t any of the above, and yet...well, in the wrapper, she looked like she could very well be one of the sweetest women in New York.

She held out her glass, and for a moment, one of the younger members glanced about, weighing his options. Then, when nobody had moved, she looked to the younger soldier. “Now.”

Jerked into action, he refilled her glass, and Timber downed it in a breath. 

“The corset can wait if you’re in pain.” He said, putting a cigar in his mouth. “You look…you look better than yesterday.” At least, in his eyes she did. Ethel was still laid up with a headache, some of his men were still moaning and groaning. Timber, though he wanted her to rest, was up on her feet and ready to raise hell.

“Romeo, if you fake your own death, we can regroup and come back stronger than ever.”

Romeo started to put on some lotion to help the burns on his arms. He didn’t look too bad off from the front, but his back was a mess. Edith did her best to change the bandages, but he wouldn’t let her. It was the grumpiest she had ever seen him. She couldn’t blame him. His Christmas party went off with a bang (too soon) and they were incredibly lucky that they survived it. Yet tucked away in his own fortress, he stewed in anger, growled in pain, and had outrageous demands that could not be met. Not even Reds could calm him down.

“If I fake my own death, I show a weakness. I’m not weak, Professor. The Blue Knife Gang is not weak. We will show them, in the public eye, that we are stronger than them. That we survived the bullshit they called a bomb. We came back, wounded, yes, but not defeated.” He took his cane and stood up shakily. He was weak, physically. He could barely walk and pace his office in thought. The beam from the ceiling fell on his leg as he tried to shield Timber from any physical harm. It would take awhile to heal, but Romeo was impatient. He wanted to kill the bastards who broke the peace treaty. He wanted to watch the blood flow from their veins at his feet and watch as the light slowly went out of their eyes. He would sip his whiskey, delighting in the revenge before his eyes.

Romeo rubbed his temples. Nothing seemed to dull the headache that pulsated with every noise. Every creak in the floorboards made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. New York was his lullaby, but now it was the symphony of his nightmares. “Shouldn’t you be resting?” He didn’t look up at Timber. “Those bones aren’t going to heal themselves and we need you.” He needed her. He needed her to be safe and protected, not hobbling around concocting ideas.

He looked between Cobb and Timber, his eyes lingering longer on Timber. “Goddamn them all.” He said quietly. He stared at the grandfather clock, his eye twitching with each tick. “We won’t start a war, but we will prepare for it.” He stood up again and took a sharp breath. He leaned on his cane and looked pointedly at his chair. “Sit.” It wasn’t a question, but it wasn’t a demand. He sounded tired, hell, he looked tired. But he needed Timber to sit.

“I propose…” He said slowly, his icy stare going between Cobb and Timber once more. “I propose we rebuild the building that was destroyed. We volunteer with the community.” He wasn’t one to be in the middle of the community. He was a silent spectator, sipping his whiskey to glare upon the city that tried to keep him from his position.

“Do any of you have any suggestions?”

“Look after yourself, Romeo.” Timber replied wearily, and took a healthy swallow of her whiskey. Finding the glass now far emptier than she liked, she refilled it again. This time around, however, she met Romeo’s gaze, and seemed to acquiesce. After all...he had saved her life, as she’d heard. That bum leg might as well be her fault. Ultimately, she gave a small lower of her head, and moved measuredly to the chair to perch herself in it. Even now, she didn’t want to appear weak, and sat perhaps far too straight.

Cobb, taking his time to measure his own response, shifted on his cane. 

“You’re proposing community service.” Cobb finally replied, his voice monotone. “Community service to...what end, exactly?”

“To restore image.” Timber muttered, and sipped from the glass as she looked to Cobb. “That’s obvious, isn’t it? The community starts to see us as buddies, we’re suddenly less of a threat than whoever fucked with us at the party. The narrative changes and suddenly, we have more business and favors than we know what to do with.”

“You have Ethel give us the finances and list of favors. I know Ernie at the Lumber Yard owes us, but we gotta know what we can and can’t do. Set boundaries for them, give them options. Pay some of their rent. Give them some…” He wanted to say ‘company,’ but he wouldn’t want Timber to do that. He would go to the whorehouse. They’d do anything for a nickel. Timber would castrate them.

“Romeo, if you fake your own death, we can regroup and come back stronger than ever.”

Romeo started to put on some lotion to help the burns on his arms. He didn’t look too bad off from the front, but his back was a mess. Edith did her best to change the bandages, but he wouldn’t let her. It was the grumpiest she had ever seen him. She couldn’t blame him. His Christmas party went off with a bang (too soon) and they were incredibly lucky that they survived it. Yet tucked away in his own fortress, he stewed in anger, growled in pain, and had outrageous demands that could not be met. Not even Reds could calm him down.

“If I fake my own death, I show a weakness. I’m not weak, Professor. The Blue Knife Gang is not weak. We will show them, in the public eye, that we are stronger than them. That we survived the bullshit they called a bomb. We came back, wounded, yes, but not defeated.” He took his cane and stood up shakily. He was weak, physically. He could barely walk and pace his office in thought. The beam from the ceiling fell on his leg as he tried to shield Timber from any physical harm. It would take awhile to heal, but Romeo was impatient. He wanted to kill the bastards who broke the peace treaty. He wanted to watch the blood flow from their veins at his feet and watch as the light slowly went out of their eyes. He would sip his whiskey, delighting in the revenge before his eyes.

Her movements were slight and stunted as she reached the bar, the broken rib and collar bone making the slightest effort far more painful. Would she show it? No. Would she let them fuss and faun over her? No. She wasn’t as much of a beast as he was being at the moment, but she was equally full of impotent rage.

Cobb dabbed at his lip, still sore from being split open. He was lucky it hadn’t been his skull, and he wasn’t in the wheelchair permanently. Like Romeo, he leaned on a cane for support, refusing to take a seat. 

He looked between Cobb and Timber, his eyes lingering longer on Timber. “Goddamn them all.” He said quietly. He stared at the grandfather clock, his eye twitching with each tick. “We won’t start a war, but we will prepare for it.” He stood up again and took a sharp breath. He leaned on his cane and looked pointedly at his chair. “Sit.” It wasn’t a question, but it wasn’t a demand. He sounded tired, hell, he looked tired. But he needed Timber to sit.

“I propose…” He said slowly, his icy stare going between Cobb and Timber once more. “I propose we rebuild the building that was destroyed. We volunteer with the community.” He wasn’t one to be in the middle of the community. He was a silent spectator, sipping his whiskey to glare upon the city that tried to keep him from his position.

Romeo gave Reds a glare, annoyed that he had interrupted their dance for a silly pantomime. He was going to whisk her away to a closed off room and show her exactly how dancing with her made him feel. Instead, he had to watch kids dressed up as toys. 

He went to the bar and was immediately handed a bottle of the best Irish whiskey. “On the house.” The bartender muttered. He opened the top while walking towards the stage, sitting down next to Timber with Reds on his other side. He took a long swig before handing the bottle to Timber. “I hate this tradition.” He murmured. “But Moira insisted the kids put on the pantomime.” He leaned back, resting his arm against the back of Timber’s chair. 

Timber obliged the young girl and took her seat front and center, gathering her skirts to smooth them and sit comfortably. If she noticed Romeo’s arm slung around the back of her chair, she didn’t draw attention to it. Well, no more than the small quirk to her lips.

Taking the bottle with a small tilt of gratitude, she took an equally healthy swig. The good stuff was always easier to go down, even if it was stronger. She appreciated his good taste.

“What Moira wants, Moira gets.” She replied easily, and may have shifted to lean into him slightly. “There are worse things to get roped into than to watch them, though. It makes ‘em happy, and they like it when you spend time with ‘em.” 

She followed Romeo and Reds on this journey like rats with the Pied Piper, and while there was a lot she’d had to do…some of which she still had to contend with in order to close her eyes at night…here they were. Together. 

Romeo gave Reds a glare, annoyed that he had interrupted their dance for a silly pantomime. He was going to whisk her away to a closed off room and show her exactly how dancing with her made him feel. Instead, he had to watch kids dressed up as toys. 

He went to the bar and was immediately handed a bottle of the best Irish whiskey. “On the house.” The bartender muttered. He opened the top while walking towards the stage, sitting down next to Timber with Reds on his other side. He took a long swig before handing the bottle to Timber. “I hate this tradition.” He murmured. “But Moira insisted the kids put on the pantomime.” He leaned back, resting his arm against the back of Timber’s chair. 

Timber obliged the young girl and took her seat front and center, gathering her skirts to smooth them and sit comfortably. If she noticed Romeo’s arm slung around the back of her chair, she didn’t draw attention to it. Well, no more than the small quirk to her lips.

Taking the bottle with a small tilt of gratitude, she took an equally healthy swig. The good stuff was always easier to go down, even if it was stronger. She appreciated his good taste.

“What Moira wants, Moira gets.” She replied easily, and may have shifted to lean into him slightly. “There are worse things to get roped into than to watch them, though. It makes ‘em happy, and they like it when you spend time with ‘em.” 

“There is a ceasefire for gangs.” He confirmed. “But there are still drunkards and dumbasses.” He wasn’t about to say that alone time with Timber was what he was after. There was very little time, except for meetings. Romeo was all business and rarely leisure. How does one relax with a target on their back and in the middle of their forehead?

“I think that certain grey hair is your fault.” He was in a constant state of worry about his gang, especially since the Cobb incident. 

“Oy! Aren’t the boyos gonna do the traditional pantomime?” Shouted Reds  before clapping Romeo on the back.

“I thought that was on the other side?” Timber replied innocently, and might’ve even dared to brush at his temple or his jaw, but the sudden appearance of Reds in his ginger glory broke the spell. With the moment gone and the dance interrupted, she began to slip from Romeo’s touch.

“Yes, but the kids are part of it as well and Clara is begging for…” But he didn’t have to explain. The little redheaded girl had grabbed both Timber and Romeo’s hands. She looked like a little doll with the apple of her cheeks painted red as well as her lips. She had a cute little bonnet as she looked up at Timber with her big green eyes. 

“But you have to watch! I get to pway the dowwy!” She tugged on Timber’s arm. “I punched Wizzie (Lizzie) for it! Wight in the tit like you taught me!” 

Reds just sighed. “And Lizzie made you bleed and took the punishment. It’s not the best thing to brag about, love.”

Still, when the little Clara grasped her hand and Romeo’s in her little gloved palms, Timber felt the all-too-familiar draw she always felt with the girl. It was damn near impossible to refuse her.

Unlike Romeo, Timber didn’t hide the amusement, and gently cuffed the girl’s chin. “That’s my girl. Enough to hurt but not enough to damage.” As much as another drink (or dance) would have been preferable, she allowed the girl to lead her off. “Alright, I’ll watch you play the dolly, dear. As long as your uncle gets to watch, too.”