#every mistake

           Might as well have one now. It had been cloudy lately, Riker noted, passing a window on his way to the theater’s side doors. It would probably rain soon. Taps had just left to meet somebody for “coffee;” it was probably more to say goodbye in case Robin decided to move everything back to Chicago abruptly. Riker could sympathize. Taps had been here for a long time and leaving wasn’t his choice. Maybe he could keep in touch online, now that he was learning to use a computer, but it wouldn’t be the same. And, shit, Riker really needed to talk to Robin about whether or not he was coming to Chicago, too. He’d beg if he had to—hell, if Robin wouldn’t hire him, he’d been paid enough to move on his own dime. Being close-by would at least give him a chance to see Taps sometimes…

           All these thoughts were tumbling around inside his head as he pushed the side door open with his elbow, fumbling to open a carton of cigarettes. His hands were starting to shake; he’d need a drink soon. God, it wasn’t even the evening yet. He needed to quit, he knew, he’d known for ages, it just was never the right time—

           Riker froze.

           A van similar to his own, but in brown, was parked in the theater parking lot, with a few people standing by its doors. Jorge was the first to see him, and he lifted a hand in greeting, smiling knowingly. Taps and Kilroy had their backs to him and turned at the gesture; Toni narrowed her eyes, pushing up the brim of her hat.

           “There’s our man,” Kilroy said, grin widening wolfishly.

           “Hey, Riker!” Taps called. “Some of your friends dropped by!”

           “Sure did,” Kilroy said, lifting a hand to slap Taps on the back, then rest it there meaningfully. “Been a dog’s age!”

           “We’ve been so busy,” Taps said, sounding conversational but Riker noticed the nervous tick of his optics darting between Kilroy’s hand and his hat. “Riker’s done so much work for me, I really can’t thank him enough.”

           “Can’t say I’m surprised!” Kilroy said. “Man’s never been scared to get his hands dirty.”

           “We’ve missed him terribly around the shop,” Jorge said with a soft smile. “But we’re happy he’s working on something so important.”

           Toni was silent. Her eyes bored into Riker as he slowly approached the group, putting the cigarette carton back into his pocket.

           “I’m sorry,” Taps said. “But I really need to get going—my friend Esme is waiting for me. I haven’t seen her in, heh, in a dog’s age,” he said with a smile at Kilroy, who lowered his hand but kept grinning. Riker felt sick boil in the back of his mouth. “It was great meeting all of you.”

           “We’ll have to have you over to the shop sometime,” Kilroy said. “Show you ‘round the place. Riverside and 34th. S’easy to find.”

           “Maybe,” Toni said quietly, eyes still fixed on Riker.

           Taps hesitated, noting the rising tension. “Sure,” he said, taking a step back. “But I’ll let you guys catch up. Riker, I’ll see you when I get back!”

           “Of course,” Riker said flatly. “I’ll see you then.”

           Taps strode away, leaving the three scrappers to regard their ex-fourth in expectant, dangling silence for a long, long minute.

           “Your boyfriend’s nice,” Kilroy said with a curling lip.

           “Fuck you,” Riker shot back with a furious glare. “What the hell do you guys want?”

           Kilroy’s eyebrows shot up in mock surprise, but Toni cut him off before he could goad Riker further. “You’ve been gone longer than expected, cousin,” she said, stepping forward. Riker felt his legs shake but held his ground. “When exactly are you going to be done with this little sideshow of yours?”

           Riker opened his mouth slightly, then closed it. Kilroy and Jorge were staring at him keenly, but his focus was on Toni. “I’m not—” he started, then winced at the darkness that spread across Toni’s face. “I—I don’t need the work anymore. I’m not coming back.”

           “Don’t need the work,” Toni said slowly, like she was scrapping slime off her boot. “This rich asshole’s paid you enough to last the rest of your life or somethin’?”

           “I’m moving to Chicago,” Riker said, willing his heart to slow down. “I’m—I’m gonna work for him there.”

           Toni snorted. “Bullshit, Riker. Rich guy like that can hire better mechanics than you to take care of his toys. Ones that ain’t drunk off their ass half the time.”

           “I’m getting better,” Riker lied softly.

           “Yeah, right. You’re not going anywhere.” Toni said, and she spat on the ground. “Enough bullshitting. Here’s what I fucking want: we’re planning to take one in this Saturday. You show up, things go back to the way they were, and I don’t have to beat the ever-lovin’ shit out of you to make sure you stay quiet. And if savin’ your own hide isn’t enough…” Toni trailed off, craning her neck to give the theater a calculating once over. “Seems your fuck-bot buddy likes to wander. Wouldn’t be so surprising if he walked off and didn’t come back one of these nights.”

           “You wouldn’t fucking dare,” Riker whispered hoarsely, heart in his throat. “He’s a rich man’s property, you don’t risk fucking with that. He’d have your head.”

           “You willing to bet, Rike? You willing to bet I don’t say you were the one who handed him over?” Toni’s dark eyes drilled into him. “Lotsa things I could do, cousin, you turn your back on me.”

           Riker couldn’t help it; his eyes darted over toward the direction Taps had gone. He should go after him. No—running would show how scared he was. Toni was already crooking a smirk, knowing she had him, knowing at the end of the day she was still in control.

           “Hell, Riker, you oughta be thankful,” Toni said. “I’m giving you a few days to wrap things up, say your goodbyes—time to get your brains screwed out by your boyfriend one or two more times. Bet you’ve been making the van rock out on the road, huh?” Riker’s pale face flushed, and Toni took it as guilt. “Yeah, I thought so.”

           Kilroy’s head turned and his smile dropped. “Hey, Toni. I think that rich guy’s here.”

           Toni glanced at the sleek black car that had pulled up, not into the lot but to the entrance just within sight of where they stood, and her smile disappeared too. “Fine,” she said softly. “I’ve said my piece anyway. Riker—you know what’s best for you. We’ll see you Saturday.” Then she turned and got into the driver’s seat of the brown van, Jorge and Kilroy following as loyal dogs. Toni glanced at him one more time through the window, and then the three of them drove off, disappearing around the corner, leaving little behind but exhaust and a terrified, shaking man.

-

           Riker panicked.

           He had been so desperately acting like everything was cool, everything was fine. He avoided Robin, staying outside to smoke cigarette after cigarette, waiting for Taps to come home. And when he had, goddamn him, he hadn’t left Riker alone. Maybe he thought Riker was sad, or needed someone to talk to, who the fuck knew what went on in his head? Riker himself didn’t know if he wanted to be close or far away.

           “Your friends are nice,” Taps had said, coming to sit next to him a few hours later. “Very… smiley.”

           Riker had shook his head. “They’re assholes, and you should stay away from them.” The way Taps blinked in surprise, so innocent and stupid had made Riker want to scream, want to grab him by the collar and shake him until he learned the world was out to hurt him, want to hold him close and make sure that nothing ever would. “Look, just, if they come back, come and get me, alright? I don’t want them…” He had desperately grasped for words, for an excuse that would work. “Picking on you,” he’d finished lamely. Taps had laughed at that, but he agreed. He went on to talk about Esme and their visit and what stupid picture Strings had texted him and on and on until Riker had excused himself, claiming he hadn’t slept well the night before and wanted to get some rest.

           But Riker hadn’t slept that night. He’d gotten very drunk in the hotel room Robin had been renting for him and curled up next to the toilet in the bathroom, periodically throwing up everything that didn’t go into his bloodstream. The images that haunted him of robots struggling, screaming, dying—they had never gone away, per se, but months away from the biz had dulled them. Months of being around Taps, letting his kindness soothe him, watching him dance and laugh, falling in love (because God help him, he was in love)—all that had made it possible for him to sleep at night.

           Now the images were back as strong as ever, but it was only Taps he saw being torn apart. Taps’ head smashed open, Taps crying out for help, Taps’ internals being ripped out by Kilroy’s hands, Taps begging to die as Jorge smiled thoughtfully. Years and years of horror repainted with something he couldn’t bear and couldn’t escape. Riker felt like he was going out of his mind.

           At some point he must have blacked out, because he woke up the next afternoon to his phone ringing. Riker didn’t look at it, just stared at the mess he’d made with bleary eyes and a throbbing head. Guiltily, he tried to clean up the worst of it. He’d leave a big tip for the cleaning crew the next morning. Then he took some aspirin, wet a towel, and laid down with it over his eyes, letting his phone ring on and on while the damp cloth soaked up his intermittent tears.

           By the evening, his panic had subsided just enough to let him think of a single, solitary thing he could do.

           He stepped out onto the balcony and typed in the phone number he’d looked up, ignoring the four missed calls from Robin. Riker watched the rain and smoked until the line picked up.

           “Yeah, I—I’d like to report an anonymous tip about a scrapping operation.”

-

           The detective put down the receiver and eyed the document he’d typed up. Then he printed it out and walked it over to the desk of another detective.

           “Johannsen,” the detective said, handing the notes over. “We just got a tip about a scrapping op working out of a garage at Riverside and 34th. Isn’t that where you got your refurbishment?”

           Johannsen hummed, his metal fingers pinching the paper. “That’s the place. But I know Toni—she’s good people. I’m sure this is just a misunderstanding.”

           “Sure,” the detective nodded. “Upset customer or something.”

           “Any ID on the caller?” Johannsen asked.

           The detective shook his head. “Male, probably white, bit of a bumpkin accent. Sounded like he was smoking.”

           Johannsen smiled. “I’ll drop by and check up on things,” he said, standing. “Just in case. Don’t worry about reporting this—if I find anything, I’ll bring it up.”

           There was a commotion growing inside the building, after about half an hour of silent waiting. Jorge and Kilroy exchanged concerned looks, unable to identify what was going on through the door, unsure whether or not to bail. Then it was thrown open and Riker stormed through, eyes red and screaming.

           “Just leave me the fuck alone!” He shot back into the dark hallway, not even noticing Kilroy standing an arm’s length away from him. Jorge popped the bottle open and splashed the chloroform onto the rag in his other hand. “I don’t want to hear it!” Riker slammed the door, and that’s when Kilroy swung low, slamming his fist into Riker’s diaphragm with practiced aim. Riker gasped and stumbled back, Jorge quickly slipping behind him and reaching around to slap the drugged cloth over his mouth and nose. Riker pushed him away with the last of his strength and fell to one knee, wheezing and teetering dizzily. Kilroy ducked and looped his arm under Riker’s, beginning to drag him away.

           “Get him in the van, go, go, go!”

           “I know,” Jorge hissed, refastening the lid on the bottle and tucking it under one arm, dropping the rag. “Keep it down!” He grabbed Riker’s other arm and hoisted him. Riker’s head swayed.

           “No,” Riker rasped, the wind still knocked out of him. “Let go—"

           Toni had hopped out of the driver’s seat and thrown the back doors of the van open. She scowled, gesturing for them to hurry the fuck up, then helping them to throw Riker into the back. Jorge climbed over him and kneeled by his head, grabbing Riker by the hair to keep him in place.

           “I’ve always wanted to do that,” Jorge said dreamily, looking down at Riker with some fondness. “Thank you for the opportunity.”

           Toni was bolting back to the driver’s seat as Kilroy hopped in the back. He turned and reached out to grab both door handles, then his head jerked up in surprise. “Shit!” Kilroy slammed the doors. “The ‘bot saw me!”

           Toni looked in the rearview mirror to see Taps standing at the door, staring at them. “Good job, asshole!” she snapped, then slammed on the gas. Jorge and Kilroy were nearly bowled over as she tore out of the parking lot and onto the street.

           “Quit fondling him and help me,” Kilroy glared at Jorge. They rolled Riker over (he barely resisted) and zip-tied his hands behind his back. Jorge produced a length of fabric from his jacket, folded it once, then forced the middle between Riker’s teeth, tying the rest of the length behind his head. “Toni,” Kilroy called up to the front. “You want us to tie his feet?”

           “Not yet,” she called back. “Wait until we’ve got him in a chair or something.”

           Kilroy grunted, sitting down against the wall of the cab and kicking Riker’s weak body out of the way. Jorge sat too and returned his hand to Riker’s head, beginning to stroke the hair out of his face. Within a few minutes, Riker was awake enough to shake his head and try to roll away, brows lowered. Jorge grabbed his hair by the roots and pulled him back, forcing Riker to lay his head on Jorge’s thigh.

           “Quiet, now,” Jorge said softly. “We’re almost there.”

           But it felt like a lifetime before they arrived.

-

           Toni backed the van into the garage and looked over her shoulder as she shut off the engine. She jerked her chin, and Jorge and Kilroy were on the move, throwing open the van’s back doors and wrestling the now fully awake Riker out and onto the concrete. Kilroy walked over to Toni’s desk, gleefully retrieving his baseball bat before meandering back to Riker, swinging it casually. He tapped the business end against the bottom of Riker’s chin and grinned.

           Toni didn’t join them immediately. Instead, she walked out of the garage and stood under the overhang of the bay doors, hands on her hips. She seemed to be taking deep breaths.

           “She alright?” Kilroy asked.

           “Give her a moment,” Jorge said. “It’s a hard thing, being betrayed by family.”

           Toni kicked at the ground, then turned around and came back in, hitting the button to close the bay doors with a closed fist. She strode over to Riker, laying on his side on the floor and staring up at her. He couldn’t speak through the gag and didn’t try. Toni shook her head slightly, and Jorge and Kilroy backed away. “You son of a bitch,” she said quietly.

          Then Toni’s boot slammed into Riker’s ribs, knocking the wind out of him again. “You son of a bitch!” she shouted, kicking him once, twice more. He twisted on the ground in pain, rolling his head away, face toward the concrete. She kneeled and grabbed him by the throat, right under his jaw, forcing him to look at her. “You goddamn traitor,” she snarled as Riker stared back with wide eyes, fire burning his skin under her hand. “You do this to me? After I helped you? After I saved you? I gave your drunk, retarded ass a place to sleep! Good paying work! And you call the cops on me?” Toni spat in his face and Riker flinched. “You’re sorry fucking excuse of family, Riker. And I’m washing my hands of your bullshit.” Toni stood and looked to Jorge and Kilroy, watching like vultures close by. “Do whatever you want with him,” she said, nudging Riker’s face with the toe of her boot, smearing it with wet grit and mud. “But if you kill him, you’d better have a damn good plan for taking care of the body.”

          “I was thinkin’ we keep him around for a while,” Kilroy said, grinning. “Like one of those stress relief balls. Put him in one of the storage closets, check up on him when things are slow—”

          “We’ve got customers, shithead,” Toni snapped. “You want him screamin’ for help, or running out here ‘cause your knots are shit? You’ve got him ‘til Sunday night.”

          Riker squeezed his eyes shut; it wasn’t even noon Friday. Taps—Taps was coming after me when I went outside, wasn’t he? Taps, buddy, please tell me you saw who got me. Please get Robin, or somebody, anybody. Please. Please. Please. Please.

          Kilroy shrugged a shoulder, pretending he wasn’t put out. “Guess we’ll squeeze a lot of fun into a short time. Ready to go, Rike?” Laying the baseball bat on his shoulder, Kilroy seized Riker with his free hand and glared at Jorge until he took the other side. As they were dragging him out on his ass, Riker made eye contact one more time with Toni. All she did was stare back coldly, standing by her desk, not even caring to watch his punishment.

          This was a punishment, wasn’t it? God had had this planned for him for a long time, a little voice in his head chirped amidst the screaming and the begging. You deserve this for everything you did.

          “You know, I wanted us to use that nice big table we’ve got out front, the one we put the ‘bots on,” Kilroy said cheerfully as he and Jorge hoisted Riker into a plain wooden chair, sitting in the middle of the back room. The piles of junk had been pushed to the walls, giving the two men room to circle him like sharks. Jorge slipped another zip tie through the one already around Riker’s wrists and secured him to the chair while Kilroy talked. “It’d be poetic, don’tcha think? But Toni, Toni’s all like, ‘There’ll be too much blood, Kilroy, people will notice the smell of blood, Kilroy.’ Paranoid bitch.”

          Jorge clicked his tongue in admonishment, standing up. “I don’t want anyone walking in on us. It should be private.”

          “What the fuck ever,” Kilroy spat. He eyed Riker for a moment and dropped the baseball bat. “Guess she was right about one thing. Having you tied down would make it harder to do this.”

          Kilroy’s fist hit like a whip, down to the crack as his knuckles hit Riker’s cheekbone. Kilroy whooped and laughed heartily. “Goddamn, I’ve been waiting years to do that!” His next swing was lower, aimed at Riker’s ribs, still throbbing from Toni’s assault. Riker curled forward at the hit, biting the gag as he teared up. For a moment, Riker prayed—God, please make it quick. “You’re not so much better now, are you?” Kilroy said as he shoved Riker back upright. “Always lookin’ at me like I’m scum, when you’re made of the same grime and dirt I am. Arrogant motherfucker!” The next punch caught Riker on the chin, knocking his head backwards. “Stuck up piece of shit!”

          Kilroy grabbed the bat and took up a swinging stance. Slowly, he brought the bat around, lining up his swing with Riker’s face.

          God, please—!

          As he pulled back, Jorge lunged forward and caught the bat. “You’ll kill him with that,” Jorge said firmly as Kilroy tried to wrestle the bat back from him. “You’ll break his neck!”

          “Oh, but I really want to,” Kilroy said in a low voice. “I really fucking want to.”

          “I haven’t had my turn.”

          Kilroy yelled wordlessly, wresting the bat out of Jorge’s hands. But instead of swinging at Riker, he threw the bat across the room and let it hit the wall, falling amongst the junk. “Fine! Fucking freak! Spoiling my goddamn fun!”

          Jorge looked down his nose and said, “Didn’t your mother ever teach you the importance of sharing?”

          “Shut the fuck up!” Kilroy kicked Riker in the shin, causing him to flinch and try to pull the leg closer to his body. “I was looking forward to this, goddammit!”

          “We’ll have plenty of time,” Jorge said with an unusual edge to his voice. “So long as you don’t get carried away and kill him too quickly.”

          Kilroy was breathing heavily, looking with equal hatred between Jorge and Riker. “I’m gonna take a fucking piss,” he finally snarled. He jabbed a finger into Jorge’s chest. “If I come back and your dick is out, I’m gonna beat the shit outta you, too. I don’t want your sloppy seconds.”

          “Please, Kilroy, don’t be crude,” Jorge said evenly, brushing his hand away. Kilroy scoffed and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. He left an all too perfectly clear silence in his wake, a crystal hanging between the two remaining men.

          Jorge smiled.

          Riker’s already beleaguered heart beat like a whole symphony of taiko drums in his ears, watching the smooth, considerate curve of Jorge’s lips. He stepped around the chair, putting a hand on Riker’s shoulder, and leaned down. “Which pocket do you keep it in?” Jorge asked, as if Riker could answer. His other hand brushed feather-light against the seat of Riker’s pants, making him shudder in terror, but it did not linger. Instead, his fingers dipped into his right-hand pocket and snagged Riker’s pocketknife, drawing it out. No. Not that, you can’t have that, he thought. Jorge straightened and flicked the knife open, admiring it. His thumb slid over the engraved S.W.V. on the grip.

          “You’ve had this for a long time, haven’t you? You never did tell me who’s initials these were.” He took two steps, drawing his hand along the breadth of Riker’s thin shoulders before coming to grip the other side. He leaned again, this time close to Riker’s ear; Riker could almost feel his smile through his hot breath. “But Toni knew. Toni told us all about your brother, and what happened to him.” He spoke quietly, laying the tip of the blade against Riker’s cheek, under where the gag ran. “What do you think of when you see this knife? Him alive, as you knew and loved him? Or his mangled corpse at the bottom of that bridge?”

          The knife flicked and pain blossomed across Riker’s jaw. He flinched away, hissing into the gag as Jorge examined the forming line of blood. “All that pain you’ve held deep down—I’ll bring it up. Emotional pain will be released through the tortures of the physical body. You know what I’m talking about—I’ve seen the marks on your arms. Same as mine. Between me and Kilroy, we’ll wring every last drop of pain out of you. And then you can die a clean vessel, free of impurity.”

          What in the goddamn fucking shit-hell motherfucking Jesus Christ goddamn out of his mind shit fuck fuck FUCK MY FUCKING KNIFE FUCK! Riker thought in a panic, a chunk of his mind latching onto the rage at having his knife—Stephen’s knife—taken from him. It was something to keep him sane while the rest of his mind was devoured by fear and dread.

          “I’ve waited a long time for the perfect opportunity, the chance to kill a real man. Robots are fun, but they’re only simulations,” Jorge continued, straightening his back and stepping around in front of Riker. He looked down at him warmly. “I always thought it might be you,” he said, taking Riker’s chin in one hand. “I’m going to make this perfect.”

          That’s when the shot rang out.

-

          Toni looked up from her computer, narrowing her eyes at the sound of someone pulling into the parking lot. She leaned back and turned her head to look at the space that led to the backroom, catching Kilroy on his way there. “Oi, Kilroy,” she snapped. “Come here a second.”

          Kilroy slowly walked over, head lowered sourly. “What is it?”

          “Someone’s here,” she said, standing. “Look busy for a minute until I can get them to scram.”

          Kilroy’s head bobbed up, a little alarm in his eyes. He scanned the room, then grabbed the last limb left from the previous month’s scrapping, quickly settling in at a workbench and starting to take apart the spindle that would attach it to a torso.

          Toni headed toward the customer entrance, right next to the garage doors, and stopped in her tracks as three suited men came through the door. Behind them loped a nerdish looking man with a trail of birthmarks across his face, looking with tired annoyance around the garage before letting his eyes rest on her.

          “Riker Venczel. Where is he?” Robin asked flatly. The look that passed between him and Toni could have frozen hot water.

          “Riker hasn’t worked here for months,” Toni said. She eyed the suited men with their dark glasses. “’Fraid you’re lookin’ in the wrong place.”

          Robin sighed. “For fuck’s sake,” he muttered. He turned his head as another figure walked through the door. “Taps, these are the people you saw taking Riker, aren’t they?”

          Taps nodded, his optics small and bright in anger. “Two of them,” he said quietly. “There’s one more.” He looked past Toni and locked eyes with Kilroy. “’Riverside and 34th, it’s easy to find,’” he said, raising his voice.

          Kilroy stood, beginning to bare his teeth. “What the fuck do you think the robot knows?”

          “Kilroy, shut up,” Toni tried to cut him off. But Kilroy came around the bench, glaring fire at Taps, at this robot who dared to mock him.

          “If Toni says he ain’t here, he ain’t fucking here,” he snarled, stepping toward the group. “You think this giant dancing toaster knows a goddamn—”

          “Shoot him,” Robin said, nodding to one of his guards. All three of them drew their weapons, and the one Robin spoke to aimed and pulled the trigger in one smooth motion. Kilroy fell with a scream as the shot echoed, clutching at his leg. Toni’s hands shot up as one of the guards trained on her, her face dark and silently furious. “Do I have to ask again? Where is he?”

          Taps, for his part, looked horrified at the sudden escalation, glancing at the back of Robin’s head, then to Kilroy panting on the ground. Toni’s nose and lip wrinkled like a mad dog, then she jerked her head over her shoulder. “He’s in the back, with Jorge. Take a left.”

          Robin muttered something to the guard who had shot Kilroy. The man handed his gun to Robin, then he and another one of the guards disappeared into the back, leaving one behind with his sights locked on Toni. Nervously, Taps lingered by the door. Robin strode over to Kilroy and kneeled next to him.

          “I want you to repeat after me,” Robin said coolly. “’I forgot the gun was loaded and I shot myself in the leg.’ Can you say that?”

          “Fuck you,” Kilroy ground out between clenched teeth.

          “I’m giving you a goddamn out because it’s a lot less work than making all three of you disappear,” Robin shot back. “But I can make you disappear and I can make you disappear tonight. Does that sound up your alley? Repeat it.”

          Kilroy rolled his head toward Toni, looking for help. But she wasn’t looking at him; she just stared straight back at the man pointing a gun at her. “I forgot the gun was loaded,” he coughed out. “And I shot myself in the leg.”

          “Good.” Robin studied the gun in his hand. “I believe this is a Glock 19, 9-millimeter, if anyone at the hospital asks.” He looked down at Kilroy meaningfully.

          “G—Glock 19, 9-millimeter,” Kilroy repeated. “Jesus Christ, man, you’re a fucking psycho.”

          Robin shrugged. “I don’t particularly care if I am. I’m still getting what I want.”

-

           When they heard the shot, both Jorge and Riker looked to the door, staring at it for a moment. They could hear Kilroy screaming.

           “What the fuck?” Jorge said quietly. He folded Riker’s pocketknife and slipped it into his own pocket. He slipped up to the door and opened it a crack, leaning in and listening.

           Cops? Riker wondered, a sprig of hope blossoming, then wilting. No, calling the cops was what got him into this mess—they weren’t coming. Robin, maybe?

           Jorge watched the hallway. First his eyes narrowed, then they shot wide, seeing something he didn’t like. He quickly pulled the door closed and tried to lock it, but it was wrenched out of his hands. Riker could feel the tension melting off himself in sheets as he recognized Robin’s guards; they seized Jorge, twisting his arms behind his back as he yelped in pain. One guard held him as Jorge’s head shook, face growing dark at being denied his murder, and started forcing him to walk back to the main room. The other guard came around and pulled out his own utility knife, cutting through the zip ties. Riker’s whole body was shaking as his arms were freed, and his hands couldn’t untie the gag. The guard pulled the knot loose and helped him out of the chair, letting Riker lean against him as they left the room.

           Riker knew he was on the verge of collapse; his eyesight was starting to dim, and his legs staggered beneath him. But he couldn’t rest, not yet. He blearily tried to take in the scene in the main room, seeing only bits and pieces—Kilroy on the ground, Toni’s hands in the air, Jorge at gunpoint—Jorge. Riker pushed away from the guard on shaky legs, past the one taking point on Jorge, and grabbed the blond man by his jacket lapels. He rasped, near delusional with pain, only one thought left on his exhausted mind: “Give me my knife back.”

           Jorge stared at him with eyes like white hot pokers, and like water his hand slipped into his pocket. “OK,” he said quietly. “Take it.”

           He was too close to Riker to miss.

-

           Riker fell as the nearest guard charged forward, clocking Jorge across the face and knocking him to the floor. He didn’t feel the pain of the knife, just the abnormality of something sticking out of the side of his abdomen. But he was done. He couldn’t go any further.

          People were shouting. Riker didn’t hear any words, didn’t try to listen. His hand curled around the familiar handle of the knife, not tugging at it, just feeling it, thinking back to the day Stephen had handed it to him, then pulled him close for a hug—almost like now, someone was pulling him into their lap, cradling his head. Riker rolled his head back and blinked, fuzzy words starting to take shape.

          “—got you, Riker, everything’s going to be OK.” Two bright blue squares in dark pools.

          “Taps?” Riker breathed, eyes swimming. He tried to reach for the familiar face and grasped at air. “You can’t, you can’t be here, Taps, they’ll kill you.”

          “Don’t talk,” Taps said softly, taking Riker’s hand in his own. “No one’s dying today, not you, not me.” He looked up at someone Riker couldn’t see. “I can carry him.”

          “You really want to do that, robot?” Toni’s voice cut through the air like a sword, angry and mocking. Riker flinched and tried to bury his face in Taps’ shirt. “You want to be that close to a scrapper?”

          He could feel Taps go rigid at her words. No, Riker thought. Please, no.

          “You have any idea how many ‘bots he’s taken apart for me? How fucking good he is at it?” Riker felt himself being lifted, and the knife shifted—and there was the pain. He cried out, grabbing at Taps’ jacket, and Toni kept talking. “You were gonna be one of them, too, if this rich fuck hadn’t gotten in the way!”

          “Taps, take him to the car,” Robin’s voice flowed past. “Rodney, let the hospital know we’re coming.”

          “He did it for booze money, robot,” Toni’s voice continued, vicious and inescapable. “You were gonna be nothin’ but a six-pack’s worth of scrap by the time he was done with you!”

          “You’re lying,” Taps’ voice was quiet. Riker clung to it, prayed please God don’t let him believe her.

          “Fucking ask him!” Toni screeched, and her voice was fading away, now distant. “Just fucking ask him!”

          They put the seats down in the giant car so Riker didn’t have to sit up. Taps gently laid him down, then crawled in around the other side so Riker could lay his head in his lap. Riker paid little mind to what was going on; all that mattered now was that Taps was there, with his cool, smooth fingers stroking his hair, and Taps was safe. He didn’t know when the car had started moving, but he felt it jostle him, and flowers of pain sprouted where the knife was. He tried to focus on Taps’ face.

          “Riker,” Taps said softly, leaning down so no one else would hear.

          Riker softly, shallowly gasped for air. He tried to smile. “I’m sorry I yelled at you,” he choked out.

          “Riker…” Taps said softly, leaning close so his question wouldn’t carry. “Was she telling the truth?”

          Riker shook his head, and coughed, and kept trying to smile. Shakily, he laughed, and coughed again, and began to cry. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

          Taps leaned back, and Riker reached for him, tried to pull him close. “Please, please—don’t go—don’t—”

          The doors opened and light flooded them. People began to pull at Riker, pulling him away, into the light, away from—

          “Taps, please—”

-

          Taps let go.

-

          Riker was pulled unwillingly into the light, still reaching desperately for his friend. Taps watched silently as he was put on a gurney, and then as his body went limp, exhaustion finally overtaking him. The emergency crew rolled the stretcher through the open glass doors, and then Robin stepped into his line of view, looking at him curiously.

          “Are you coming in?” Robin asked. He seemed completely unruffled by everything that had just happened. “The staff won’t give you any trouble if you’re with me.”

          Taps looked away and shook his head. “I think I just want to go back to the theater,” he said quietly.

          Robin shrugged. “Take him back,” he said to the guard in the driver’s seat, then shut the door. The driver looked over his shoulder at Taps, expecting him to put the seat back up, but Taps continued to sit where he was, silent. After a moment, he turned the key in the ignition, and the car pulled away, headed straight for the theater Taps called home.