#harmonyowl

Finally, she looks up at him with a scowl, her green eyes hard and sharp. “Where’s my brother, Jacob?” she asks.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he lies. 

“Ta gueule,” she growls, slapping the file onto the desk and rising to her feet. She rests her knuckles on the desk as well, mirroring him and invading his personal space. “Your man, Shaw, was a ranger, same as Augustine.”

“And?”

“He was supposed to be with him at the ranger’s station the night of the Reaping. Only ‘stead of bein’ there, he was busy huntin’ me down through the woods, leavin’ my brother all alone.”

“Your brother’s a grown man. I’m sure he’s fine.”

She bares her teeth. “I found Augustine’s backpack scattered on a pile of rocks near the station. Pool of blood, too. Only, there weren’t no body. Now, I checked with Eli an’ he says the Militia ain’t seen ‘im. Neither has the rest of the Resistance. Which leads me to believe some of your men picked him up.”

Jacob hums. That is indeed what happened. His hunters found Augustine on the rocks with a broken leg and brought him back to the Vets Center. Jacob has no use for the lame and was prepared to use the man as food for the Judges, but after Shaw told him he was the Deputy’s brother, he changed his mind. The man was far more useful as leverage. A tool to be used against his sister. “And the thought that he might’ve crawled away to safety or died elsewhere never occured to you?” 

Her eyes narrow. “Weren’t no blood trail to suggest that’s the case,” she hisses. “This is a courtesy, Jacob. I’m askin’ you nicely. Where. Is. My. Brother?”

“He’s not here,” he says. Which is true. 

It isn’t what Sybille wants to hear. Her hand darts out to grab at the collar of his jacket, pulling him even closer. He can smell her breath. The mintiness of her toothpaste barely covers the stale scent of cigarettes. “That ain’t an answer, Jacob,” she growls. 

“He’s safe,” he tells her, which is also true.

But it isn’t good enough either. Her fist twists his collar, drawing him in until their heads bump together. “That ain’t an answer, either.”

His expression shifts, moving from mild amusement to something more patronizing. “Sybille,” he starts, voice dripping with condescension, but then he feels the sharp point of a blade pressing against his ribcage. 

Her voice drops, low, quiet, and threatening. “If the next words outta your mouth ain’t the truth, swear to God, I’ll gut’cha like a fish.” She applies just a little more pressure to the blade, prodding it emphatically just under his ribs.

And then he smiles something genuine. There’s not a doubt in his mind that in this moment she’d stick and disembowel him. Heat stirs low in his abdomen, and he finally tells her what she wants. “He’s at Joseph’s compound.”

Sybille stares at him for a long moment, her eyes narrowed and searching, but ultimately judges him to be telling the truth. She releases her grasp on his jacket and leans back, blade still in hand but no longer pointing it at Jacob’s chest. “And why, pray tell, is he there?”

“He didn’t go unwillingly if that’s what you’re asking.”

“You’re real good at not answerin’ my questions,” she says harshly.

Jacob just shrugs. “Joe’s words speak to those in need of family.”

“Augustine has family,” she snarls.

“Eight years is an awfully long time to go without seeing his sister. You didn’t even visit him while you were on leave. Some people would feel abandoned.”

She punches him square in the jaw, sending him stumbling back a few steps. “You’re a goddamn hypocrite, Jacob Seed,” she seethes, her eyes burning with rage. “I raised that boy. Put him through college. I sacrificed everythin’ for him.”

“Including time spent,” he says coolly, rubbing at the bruise beginning to bloom. He’s aware he has no room to talk given his own family history, but he can’t help but enjoy needling under her skin. She’s a beacon of wrath, and he licks his lips as his eyes briefly dart down to where he would normally see the angry scars on her chest were she not wearing the uniform of one of his men.

“I’m gettin’ him back,” she says, her teeth bared once more. “And when I do, I’m arrestin’ your brother. Gonna take him away from you, like you took mine.”

The heat in Jacob’s core intensifies. The lust for revenge looks so fucking good on her. 

“And when I’m done,” she adds, “I’m comin’ for you, next.”

Jacob’s smile widens, his grin just as biting as her anger. “We’ll see about that, sweetheart.”

She glares at him, pulling the balaclava up over her face. “Oh, we certainly will,” she promises. “We certainly fuckin’ will.” And without another word, she moves towards the door, unlocking it. She slips quietly out of the room, leaving Jacob entirely alone. 

She doesn’t say anything, so naturally Staci opens the bathroom door and lets it shut heavily behind him. Not for the first time, she wishes that the door locked – she doesn’t need anyone else to walk in and see her hiding, even if she is hiding behind a closed stall.

His footsteps echo of the tile walls and high ceiling. She watches the space between the stall door and the floor, and a few seconds later Staci’s boots appear in front of her.

Neither of them move for a moment. Rook stays put, her chin resting on her knees, and Staci doesn’t move from in front of the locked door.

“You okay?” Staci asks eventually, once enough time has passed without either of them saying anything. Rook keeps her mouth shut. She doesn’t know if anything would come out, even if she wanted it to.

She’s only known him a few months, but Rook has discovered that Staci is a creature of habit. She’s learned so many of his mannerisms: the way he bites the inside of his cheek to keep from arguing with Joey, how he chews his bottom lip unconsciously when he’s lost in thought.

Rook can’t see him right now, but she knows he’s pinching the bridge of his nose. He’ll trail his hand down his face next, will run his palm over the stubble of his jaw until his fingers rest against his lips. It’s what he does whenever he doesn’t know where to begin.

“Look, I—I get it, you know?” Staci says quietly. “It’s not easy to kill someone.”

A laugh startles its way out of her. To her own ears, it sounds a little hysterical. Rook can only imagine what it must sound like to him.

“That’s putting it mildly,” she says. They’re the first four words she’s spoken in as many hours, and her throat is so dry it feels like she’s swallowing sandpaper. She lets go of her knees and grips the denim of her jeans so her hands don’t shake.

“Yeah, well,” Staci sounds resigned. “Hiding in the bathroom isn’t going to make it any easier. At least in my experience.”

Rook scrubs her hands down her face. Her eyes are burning. She’s not sure how much longer she can go without actual, restful sleep.

“Then what does?” she asks quietly. Rook sets her feet on the ground and stretches out the muscles behind her knees. She’s been sitting in the same position too long. “I can’t sleep, Staci. I keep having—“

“Nightmares,” Staci finishes for her. There’s a thud against the door, like he’s pressed the palm of his hand up against it. “Yeah. I know.”

A familiar tingling has been creeping up the bridge of her nose ever since he walked into the bathroom. Now it spreads lower, moves from her nostrils to the corners of her eyes. Tears blur the edges of her vision, and Rook realizes with an embarrassed sort of surprise that she’s going to cry.

“Fuck,” she hisses under her breath, reaching up to swipe at the first wave of traitorous tears with the back of her hand.

Rook has to wonder — was this what it was like the first time he killed someone? Did he retreat to the bathroom with his hands shaking and his stomach in knots?

How long did the nightmares last?

She sniffs, squeezing her eyes shut tight to stop the flow of tears, but the memories she’s been trying so hard to fight off are burned into the space behind her eyelids.

“Do they ever go away?” Rook asks quietly.

Staci pauses. Eventually, he sighs, and Rook can see the way he shifts his weight from foot to foot.

“No. Not completely,” he says. Rook’s heart twists painfully in her chest. “But they get better. I know that’s probably not what you wanna hear, but it’s the truth.”

“How long?”

If she could see him, Rook knows he would be hiking his shoulder up in a weak shrug.

“Depends.”

“On?”

“Whether or not you choose to get help when you need it.”

Rook is quiet for a moment. She opens her eyes, salty tracks running down her cheeks, and wipes her runny nose on the sleeve of her shirt. The beige paint on the door of the stall is starting to peel; she reaches forward and picks at it.

“I can’t stop wondering whether I did the right thing,” she says after a while. She’s not crying anymore, but her eyes sting. The skin underneath is red and swollen. “I didn’t have to shoot him.”

“It’s not that easy, Rookie,” Staci murmurs. “You did what you had to do to keep yourself safe. Tearing yourself up over it isn’t gonna help.”

He’s right, but that doesn’t mean she feels any better about the whole thing. Rook takes a shaky breath and leans forward to unlock the stall door. She was right about Staci having his hand on it — it swings open under the weight and slams against the wall with a thud.

Staci’s hands drop to his sides, and his expression softens considerably. In any other situation, Rook thinks she would give him shit for staring at her with such obvious pity in his eyes. Instead, she stands from her spot on the closed toilet lid and throws her arms around his neck in a tight hug. He’s warm and solid, and he falters for a moment with his arms at his sides before his hands settle on her back.

“You can always talk to me,” Staci says. Rook feels his breath against the crown of her head as he speaks. “We gotta have each other’s backs, you know? Part of the job.”

Moving all the way to Hope County was never first on Rook’s bucket list — she had planned to stay in the city, maybe settle down, start a family. Instead, she’d been hurtled into this small town with its tiny police station and odd inhabitants, trying desperately to make a home in a place she didn’t feel she belonged.

There are things about this place that she loves, and there are things about this place that she hates; Staci, she is learning, is thankfully the former. As she stands there tangled around him, tear tracks drying on her cheeks, something unfurls in her chest and grabs hold of her heart. She squeezes him tightly.