#2econdlead

so now she's standing awkwardly in the hallway, wearing yesterday's clothes and feeling ridiculous. if billy thinks they're gonna see each other again, he's dead wrong.

seeing no car on the driveway, brooke assumes his parents already left as well, so she gives herself permission to stomp around the house as she desperately tries to find a phone to call someone to pick her up.

she's in the kitchen, a stolen cookie from the pantry in her mouth, when the sound of footsteps makes her jump in place. oh, shit. she forgot billy had a sister.

"uh... hey!" brooke puts on her best winning smile, hoping her casual demeanor will hide how much she wants the ground to split open and swallow her whole. "max, right?" the kid had an unusual name, so thankfully brooke had been quick to memorize it.

"soooo your brother kinda left me stranded here with no ride back." smile turns just a little sardonic. no point in covering for him, she guesses. "any chance you have a phone around here to call for rescue?"

WHAT DOESN'T KILL YOU // accepting // @2econdlead sent (for Matt) — i ask, you answer. that's how this works.

Everything is where it should be. No alarms going off, no overturned chairs, no plaster broken by gunfire. Even the guards are still at their posts. They're just not alive.

Two at the entrance, two at the back, three on patrols, and one on the roof. There's been no hesitation in these attacks, no wasted motion, no anger behind the precise strikes. This place has been solved like a puzzle, and solved in just the same way Elektra would have done, had it been her task.

She walks each room expecting and meeting no one until she sees the body. A small part of her considered he might simply have been extracted for questioning, but no. Marco Derveni, the protected witness, the latest in a chain of killings that look exactly like this. Like her.

The air shifts behind her before the thought fully forms, enough to know that the safehouse is no longer empty.

She turns and dodges Matt’s strike before it lands, but in the breath of surprise at his presence, she doesn’t escape the tackling grapple that follows, nor the binding of his billyclub cable as it locks around her and anchors her to a metal support beam at the ceiling.

His breath is hot with familiar, heart-racing anger, and Elektra bares her teeth right back at him. "Matthew—"

"I ask, you answer. That's how this works."

Interrogation. She'd laugh if the lives of four people, including a journalist from a staged overdose, hadn't led her to this location to discover the fifth.

The cable bites into her skin as she tests its strength. "Then ask."

her attempts to talk to max at school, on the days she bothers to show up, are short-lived with little to show for it. admittedly, brooke isn't sure how to go about this either. her brother died. horrifically, at that. no amount of pep talks from the resident cheer captain would be enough to make her feel better.

maybe max will be more willing to talk at home. at least that's what brooke tells herself as she knocks on the door to her trailer, a casserole in hand - that she had to borrow from one of the cheerleaders, after trying and failing to find one at home; her parents probably didn't even own one, honestly.

"max!" a smile is on her lips as soon as max finally opens the door, instinct more than it is genuine, an obvious attempt at lively conversation before inevitably shifting to a more somber tone. "i brought food." brooke lifts the casserole up for her to get a better look. "don't worry, it's storebought. i wouldn't risk poisoning you."

normally, max would've jumped on that right away, teased her right back by confirming her cooking really was atrocious... but there's barely any light in her eyes now, skin pale and frame much thinner since the last time they saw each other.

"you... weren't at school today." or the day before - or the day before that. "i figured i'd come check on you."

she tenses at the blunt reply - expected, though that does not lessen its impact. samira's scared. as any civilian would be in such a dangerous situation. it's nora's responsibility to help her out of this unscathed, to calm her when her fears get the best of her.

"it's alright." she dismisses the apology with a wave of her hand, not wanting the other to dwell on it. "i'd be more surprised if you weren't freaking out a little." there's the smallest smile forming on nora's lips, hoping that a little lightheartedness will bring some levity to the air. they desperately need it.

@2econdlead / resident evil requiem meme

the protest she had ready to fire dies out on her lips, mouth closing in reluctant defeat. she knows he's right. as much as dawn doesn't want to be saved by a vigilante, there's only so much she can do here. a black belt in karate seems like child's play in comparison to the person chasing them, and she'd likely get injured trying to prove a point.

"fine." there's still a bite to her tone, even as she concedes, frustrated with the situation and how helpless she feels. so much for a safer city. what was she even fighting for, day in and day out?

arms cross to her chest as she takes a tentative step towards him, gaze lingering as she tries to study his features. even if she did manange to see his face, dawn may not be able to recognize him. that was the thing with these vigilantes. it could be anyone under the mask. someone with good intentions but little else to go by.

the refusal isn't taken to heart - in hindsight, lucy's not sure she's ever seen samira eat a proper meal, but then, they so rarely have the time for that - yet there's no deying she had hoped they could share the food. she'd even gotten a big enough quesadilla portion from the food truck a block away for the two of them with that in mind.

The on call room is almost completely dark when the door eases open, the faint light from the hallway spilling across the floor for half a second before it disappears again behind Samira. Jack is sitting on the edge of the narrow bed, elbows braced against his knees, still in his scrubs with his head tipped forward like the weight of the shift finally caught up to him the second he got somewhere quiet. He looks up when she steps inside, tired eyes finding her immediately. There’s no surprise in it. Just exhaustion. The kind that settles deep enough to hollow someone out from the inside.

For a moment neither of them says anything. Then she tells him softly, “You’re enough.”

Jack goes completely still.

His jaw tightens faintly as he looks away first, one hand dragging over his face before settling against the back of his neck. A quiet breath leaves him, uneven around the edges. “Samira…” he says under his breath, like hearing it out loud physically hurts a little. Not because he dislikes it. Because he wants to believe it. He stares at the floor another second before finally looking back at her, eyes red rimmed with exhaustion and something more vulnerable than he usually allows people to see.

“You know the messed up part?” he asks quietly. “I can talk patients through panic attacks, grief, trauma… all of it. I can convince strangers to stay alive for another day.” A humorless huff escapes him as he shakes his head slightly. “But when it comes to me, it’s like there’s always this voice saying I should’ve done more. Been more. This is no different."

Robby’s eyes slide sideways at the voice, irritation flickering sharp for half a second before it settles into something more familiar—resigned, tight-edged. “Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, the words lacking real bite as Shen comes into view. “Always nice when the attending reads off the script I’ve been reciting in my own head.” His jaw shifts against the collar, a subtle wince he doesn’t quite manage to hide as fingers move in to start assessing him.

He exhales slowly through his nose, forcing himself to stop tracking every hand that comes near him, every movement he can’t control. “Car blew a light,” he says after a beat, voice steadier than he feels. “Came out of nowhere. I tried to lay the bike down, didn’t have the angle.” His fingers twitch faintly against the board, restrained more by position than anything else. “Took the hit on the side. Helmet held.” A pause, then, quieter, stubborn even now, “I told you—no LOC.”

His gaze drifts up to the lights again, unfocused for a second as the adrenaline continues to ebb, leaving the ache behind in sharper detail. He swallows, then adds, almost like an afterthought, “Ribs are gonna be pissed. Shoulder too.” Another breath, tighter this time. Then, because he can’t quite help himself, because it matters—“I had the right of way.”

There’s a beat before his eyes cut back toward Shen, something wry tugging faintly at his mouth despite everything. “And if Ellis won rock, paper, scissors, you can tell him I expect a better victory speech than that.”