✨𝔽𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕖𝕣 𝔾𝕦𝕟𝕤✨

She’d quoted the Woman in White the night you met. Less of the night you met and more the night you had broken into her house. The night that she’d first bitten you, and for a moment, you embraced death. In the next moment, you were painfully alive and at her mercy.

It’d been years, nearly a decade, since you’d first attempted to read ‘The Woman in White’ and it was Kate who finally dropped it on your nightstand a few days ago, pulling you from the dregs of sleep. The type of sleep that formed drool at the side of your mouth. The type of sleep that had you waking up in the same stiff position that you’d crashed in.

Kate hadn’t necessarily been on her best behavior lately. She was skilled enough to drain someone to near-death, and in that case, you’d nurse the person back to health within a day with an IV and rest, before leading a blood-drunk Kate their way to ‘persuade’ them that they had a nasty bout of the flu.

But there were times where she’d gone too far, something you typically didn’t know until your boot caught the folded body on the floor and sent you sprawling. You would feel for a pulse, just to be safe, and would pick yourself up. Kate would rouse long enough to snort a laugh at you before dropping her face back down to whatever couch she had draped herself on.

Kate, when she got like this, reminded you much of a frat boy. She’d feed as much as possible, spend nights out and days unconscious, only waking up to shuffle into the kitchen and drain whatever bag of o-negative was in the crisper.

She was coming down now, thankfully. It had been a rough two months. Your bones hurt, your head hurt, and typically when she started to frequent Apex, things were winding to the end. Despite her stagnant age, she tired easily than she once did. Or at least, you assumed she did.

“Silence is safe,” you mumbled, frowning at the pages. “my ass.”

You dropped the cigarette, satisfied with the hiss it made when water from a nearby puddle soaked it. Still, out of habit, you crushed your boot into it, drowning the glowing ash. It had grown too cold now, you flexed your fingers, moving to open the car door.

“Oh my god.”

Hair stood up on your arms, the back of your neck tingling. You set the book on the top of the car, eyes snapping to the mouth of the alleyway. Even with your perks of being a familiar, clocking who it was in the dark was difficult. You could see her features clearly, but your memory of her was swimming in years gone by.

She wore heels, smelled of strawberry liquor that kept her warm in the cold. Blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders. She wasn’t drunk, that much you could tell, but she clapped her hands and let out a squeal that could of indicated intoxication instead of excitement.

“y/n? Is that you?”

Oh. Oh. When she said your name like that, clipped and tinged with valley-girl, something clicked in your mind. It crashed into you with cold reality. Madysnn. Fuck, of course it was her. She had been your next door neighbor until she went off to college and her parents moved somewhere warmer.

Madisynn was kind enough. At least, that’s what you realized after you dried out. She regarded you with pity when you were younger, walking with you to the bus stop and chattering the whole way. She would give you rides when she got her license. She had until you fell into the wrong crowd and started swallowing down Jack Daniels behind the shop n’ save.

After you’d snapped at her once, her eyes flickered with a type of sadness that made you wish you could take back your slurred words right away. She’d left for Chapel Hill not too long after that. The more you fell into whatever would numb the pain in the world, the more you looped her in with the fuzzy group of people that had driven you to your lifestyle in the first place.

“Holy shit, it is you.” 

“Hi, Madisynn.” You responded politely, not completely able to tamp down your smile. “It’s good to see you. I thought you had left town.” 

“And I thought you-” she cut herself off with the clack of her jaw, frowning “You look good. Really good. I saw your aunt the other day. I’m uh, I’m back home for a bit, trying to fix up the place before it’s listed.” 

You nodded solemnly, shoving your hands into the warmth of your pockets. They stung at the sudden introduction to heat. You balled them into fists, an involuntary reaction to the mention of your aunt. When it came to her, you weren’t quite sure if she had survived another rotation around the sun. 

Living with Diana had been nice at first. You had been deposited into her care when they carted your father off to prison for a two year sentence that turned to an easy lifetime after he’d melted a toothbrush down and shoved it into a vital artery. Once the social worker stopped showing up, so did Diana. 

Madisynn sensed the shift in the atmosphere, the tension shirking off you. She offered up a brittle smile, you could smell the sweat through the artificial fruit now. “What have you been up to all these years? You’ve been a stranger. No socials or anything, I tried to track you down a few times out of curiosity.” 

You didn’t want to sound pretentious, like one of those people who made it their whole personality to live a private lifestyle. So instead you settled on a nervous laugh. “I’ve just been working a lot. It keeps me busy. You’ve graduated right?” 

“Barely. I work at a law firm in the city. Obviously I knew the bar wouldn’t be easy, but Christ, they could make it passable at least.” 

She let out a long sigh, shaking her head. Her breath materialized in front of her, and you thought it odd that she hadn’t complained of the cold, or even shivered. She brushed her bangs back with two fingers, giving you a dazzling smile that reminded you just how well-loved she was in high school. 

“Oh, I almost forgot.” 

She snapped her fingers like something had just come to her. She unzipped the purse over her shoulder, dug around as if she were looking for a tin of mints. The sound of your heartbeat filled your ears, and instinctively, you knew something was wrong. 

That light in her eyes had flipped like a switch, plunging her pupils into a vacant darkness. It only took you half a second to notice, but it was half a second too long. 

The knife embedded itself into the soft area right under your ribcage. It was a switchblade, something small but lethal all the same, sharpened to the point of pushing into you with ease. Madisynn aimed up and twisted. Painless, it seemed. It was an uncomfortable pressure filled with a gush of warmth. 

Madisynn gripped your shoulder, pulling the weapon back with a sick squelch. The second time the knife hit your abdomen, you felt less. Adrenaline had started to kick in, swamping your veins as you became unsteady on your feet. The wet pavement was under your knees, the first wound starting to pulse. 

You couldn’t speak. When you tried to, an exhale of air slipped past your lips instead. It was more of a groan, really. Nothing loud. You’d go quietly and without dignity, in the alleyway behind a blood dispensary. It was at the hands of your childhood friend, one you suddenly wished you had been kinder to. 

Madisynn crouched in front of you, elegant in her heels and steady on her feet. She curled her finger under your chin, lifted your eyes from the hilt of the blade that was sticking from you, as if you almost couldn’t comprehend that something was there, slicing into you. 

“Eleanor told me exactly where to hit,” She whispered, breath hot and sour with alcohol. “She wanted you to bleed out, said that there was something poetic about it. Messy.” 

The pressure in your stomach released with a warm spurt of blood. The knife clattered against the pavement, and without the extra support, you slumped back against the side of the Lincoln, trying to card through your hazy memory about what it truly meant to be Kate’s familiar. 

Accelerated speed, and strength, slowed aging, and healing… healing could only reach so far when you were mostly human. Eleanor knew this. She dragged out death until it was torturous. Madisynn must have been an easy target, a blow from the past who was much too kind for her own good. 

You wouldn’t be alive to pass blame. 

Madisynn had fallen to a sitting position now, her eyes widening as she took in the red that pooled under you and coated her hands. They shook uncontrollably, tears slipping down her cheeks. “I-I don’t,” she seemed to snap herself out of it, leaning forward and pressing her hands to the nearest wound to staunch the bleeding. 

A gurgled sound left you, one that you were willing to bet contributed to the thickening of your lungs. It was getting harder to breathe, your stomach burning now, alight with a near-numbness that sent you reeling when she touched you. 

“It’ll be okay, everything will be fine, just breathe for me.” Madisynn searched through her purse clumsily. Rushed jerky movements that betrayed her urgency. “You’re going to be okay. I just need to- fuck- where’s my phone? I always have my phone!” 

Something sullen fell over her as she let her bag drop back to the ground. Instead of trying to staunch the bleeding, she clenched her eyes shut. She took your hand in her own instead. You squeezed back, trying to ground her. The pain, though brief, was ebbing away. The cold nighttime air didn’t feel so unmanageable anymore. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” 

“I should…” the words came out husked, tearing like an open wound from your throat. Forming words seemed like too much right now. “Be apologizing to you. That-” you paused, catching your bearings. The world flickered around you. “That day b-behind the grocery store. That was cruel. You just wanted to-to help.” 

She let out a watery laugh, brought your intertwined hand to her forehead and pressed. “No, no. Don’t you dare apologize. I did want to help. We were kids with more pain than we knew what to do with. It had to go somewhere, right?” 

“Shouldn’t have been you.” You let out a sticky heave, swallowing the taste of metal as soon as it filled your mouth. “None of this should have been you.” 

“No, no, no, you have to stay awake” Madisynn begged in a whimper before her voice crescendoed into something broken and desperate. “Help! Somebody help!”

You sighed, the noise leaden. No one would hear her over the changing pitch of the music, it’s muted thump now faster than your heart. It stuttered, fought to tick forward with a significant lack of blood. Seconds, minutes, hours, it all blended into this warmth. This comfortable embrace of something more, and nothing at all. 

Huh. Maybe Wilkie Collins was right. Silence is safe. 

Loud. Holy Shit, it was loud. Someone was screaming. It took you a few moments to realize that it wasn’t you. Your mouth was much too dry, aching as if you’d ground your teeth together long enough to generate a sharp pain. Opening your eyes seemed too much a task. Moving your fingers had nearly sent you over the edge of discomfort. 

When you inhaled, you were met with the scent of something sweet and familiar. It had a spiced edge to it that reminded you of Kate’s cologne. You relaxed into it, letting out a content sigh that was drowned out by another shriek. A headache was beginning to form at the base of your skull. 

You scrunched your face up and grumbled into what you assumed was a pillow. It was soft, cool to the touch. Going back to sleep would be impossible, but waking up also seemed fruitless. Your eyes hurt to open. They were crusted like you’d obtained pinkeye, tears cemented to the skin. 

Fear spiked in your chest like a metal rod chilled to the point of pain. You weren’t alone, and you certainly weren’t in your room. You’d grown quite fond of your space. Though small, it was cozy and Kate did not enter unless she was throwing herself onto the bed dramatically, or setting down a novel she wanted you to read. 

This was Kate’s room. Certainly not off limits for you, especially when she’d drag you in here and sink her teeth into your neck, letting her fingers drop down to your soaked core. It was pleasurable for you both, and often included a walk of shame the next morning, across the house. 

This wasn’t that. 

You were on her side of the bed, expertly tucked into the duvet. The curtains were drawn, a candle was lit on a nearby table. And she was here, watching you carefully, the orange flame dancing in the reflection of her eyes. She’d frozen, a book in one hand that she must have attempted to read at some point. 

Kate looked exhausted. There was a sickly pale to her skin and a concave infliction around her eyes. If she weren’t in a haplessly buttoned shirt, you would consider that this is what Kate looked like in the Victorian Era. Flawless, stoic, beautifully inhuman. 

She stood carefully, the expression on her face one that you couldn’t quite read. Your mind was muggy. You knew that you were in pain, and you knew that you were missing a big chunk of time, but the thoughts kept slipping away from you. There was only her. You were in equal parts fearful of whatever punishment she had dreamed up, and content. So very content to see her. 

“You’re awake.” 

Kate lowered herself onto the side of the bed, peering down at you with what you could only describe as fondness. From this close, you could smell the blood on her, see the cracks where the skin on her knuckles had busted open, blood dripping from the seams, before healing rapidly. The ghost of violence. 

When she saw you staring, she curled her fingers into a fist, released them slowly as if testing their durability. Your own hand twitched. You wanted her to hold you. She was close enough where you could feel her, but it was just barely. You would crawl inside her ribcage, given the chance. 

“How are you feeling?” 

“Sore,” 

Your voice caught into a cough, wracking you with the hitch of breath. Kate moved with haste, reaching forward and grabbing the pitcher next to the bed. Instead of allowing you to drink yourself, she cupped the back of your neck, gently guiding you. She watched the way your throat worked around the water, swiftly used the edge of her thumb to wipe away the spare drop. 

“Sorry,” you apologized, but quickly corrected yourself. “Thank you.” 

Kate replaced the water, sat back. She was analyzing you in near silence, a crease to her brow. “Do you remember what happened?” 

Your eyes fluttered closed, the base drum of that subtly forming headache crashed down. What did you remember? There were flashes of the alleyway behind Apex, the sound of the music, and someone that felt familiar, but wasn’t. Not in the state the both of you were in. 

You whimpered, hands going directly through the specter of events. Kate’s touch was gentle against your cheek, pulling you from the recesses of the thrumming ache. Your eyes shot open, a frown already forming on your features. 

Kate flinched at your sudden reaction. Your hands moved to her wrist. Despite your urgency, your touch was gentle, barely even there. You traced the length of her forearm, her thumb sweeping over the round of your cheek. Warm. Kate was warm. 

She could feign the humanness of her touch. Swallowing down blood made her cheeks rosy and fingers tepid. Alcohol, if she downed a lot of it, would do the same. Around the office, she would hold a cup of coffee. Her employees deemed her over-caffinated, but each handshake was on the tepid side of icy. 

For the first time in the decade that you had known Katherine Bishop, her touch felt alive. 

She had either found a magical cure that sucked the vampirism out of her without turning her to dust or it was you that had changed. You had never particularly minded the chill of her advances, but something about this tenderness made you wonder how you’d ever survived without it. 

“Kate.” 

“Come here.” 

The demand was barely out of her mouth before you crashed into her. Kate’s arms wrapped around your midsection, pulling you impossibly close. You were on her lap now, nose buried into the spot you’d always found the safest, the crook of her neck. She smelled different. Not bad, just more defined. 

You were trembling, and it took a moment to realize that she was too. The shoulder of your shirt, of her shirt, slowly dampened. And for a while, the two of you clung to one another like a long-distance couple reuniting at the airport. Kate sobbed, loud and dredged from the deepness of her chest. 

“This wasn’t supposed to happen.” She whispered, “I never wanted this for you.” 

You curled further into her, not able to stifle the whimper that sounded. It was pathetic, you knew that, but the way Kate shifted at the pained noise was worth it. She was looking at you, forehead pressed to yours and hands holding both of your cheeks. Your own rested on her shoulders, so near to where the warmth of her exposed skin was. 

“You’ve taught me something about control, darling.” Kate rasped, nudging her nose against your own. “From the moment I saw you, I wanted you. Not as a familiar, not as a bloodbag. You. But I could see the pain in your eyes. The world had never been kind to you, and the thought of welcoming you into eternity felt more like torture than absolution.” 

She took a shaking breath, tried to steady herself. Failed. 

“When I saw how you wore happiness, I never wanted to take that away from you. But every day, fuck, every day the only thing I could think about was spending eternity with you in my arms. It wasn’t fair. Nothing in your life was fair. I set out to give you stability, and I wanted you to have that for as long as you could, to make up for all of the bad.” 

“Kate. You saved me.” 

“I damned you.” She was holding onto your hand now, playing with your fingers in a fit of nervousness. “It was selfish of me. Taking you in the first place, and making sure that you would be mine forever.” Her voice bled into desperation. “Anna has been slipping my blood into your food for quite some time now.” 

You blinked up at her, tears having dried on your cheeks only to resurface. And then you were laughing, shaking your head at not only her disbelief, but her offense at how quickly you’d dissolved into giggles. 

“What’s so funny?” She pouted. 

“I know. I’ve known for a long time. Anna is talented but she’s not talented enough to cover the taste of blood. Not even in wine.” 

Kate made a sound that was halfway between a groan and a growl, but you swore there was a bit of an upturn to her lip. “You knew?” 

“Mmhm. And I ate it anyway. Every time. I thought it was cute, really. You wanted to protect me.” 

“And look how well I did that?” She scoffed, bringing your fingers to her lips and placing a kiss against them. That warmth, it was there, it made you shiver. “Blooddrunk in Apex while you were suffering just a few yards away. I will never forgive myself for that.” 

You swallowed hard, trying to quell the burn in your throat that you now recognize as more than just dryness. “Well, I forgive you. Can that be enough? For now?” 

Kate considered this for only a moment before she pulled you back into her, arms a vice around you. For a moment, she did not cry, and neither did you. She held you like she had never held you before, and you felt all of it. 

When another scream pierced through the silence of the house, Kate tensed, burying her nose closer to the nape of your neck, her favorite place too, it seemed. You found yourself detangling from her, instantly missing the newfound heat to her. All you had to do was cock an eyebrow before Kate let out a long sigh. 

“It wasn’t hard to figure out who persuaded that poor girl to harm you.” 

She clenched her jaw hard enough that you could hear it creak. You couldn’t tell if she was swallowing down anger, or something more vitriol. Your mind flashed to the dinner party, to the knife through Eleanor Bishop’s hand. There was a sick crunch to the tendons snapping under a blade. You felt your stomach ache at the thought of it. 

The next scream was sharper, almost angry. Kate glowered, eyes sweeping to the door. “She’s getting impatient. I should go back down there.” 

She rose to her feet, and when you attempted to do the same, the world tilted on its axis. Kate steadied you easily, a skepticism to her eyes. “Easy, pet. What do you think you’re doing?” 

“Coming with you?” 

“As much as I would love that, Bambi, you’re unsteady on your feet.” 

You shrugged “I can sit on the couch. Someone has to clean up the literal mess I’m sure Natasha made.” 

“You do realize that I’ve lived centuries without someone cleaning up after me?” Kate tried to posture, but it wasn’t working. To you, she looked like a disheveled housecat that ate out of a crystal bowl. She groused like one too, deflating as easily as she’d straightened. “I’m not going to be kind. I need her to hurt the way she hurt you.” 

It would be fruitless to mention that dozens of bodies you’d disposed of for Kate over the past decade. You’d seen the damage that she could inflict. But very rarely had you seen the icy reprimand. Even on the occasions where you had pushed her too far, she fractured delicately. 

“I think I need that too.” 

It didn’t take her long to relent, and once she was sure that you could handle yourself, you made the descent to the ground floor. The world looked different, felt different. Deafening in a way that was both intriguing and overstimulating. You could smell Eleanor’s blood from here. It was acrid and vile. It carried the edge of something venomous. 

Natasha was standing at the hearth, a poured glass of oaky bourbon in one hand, a firepoker in the other. As the flames touched the tip, the wetness of spilled blood crisped on the iron edge before a demonic glow began to climb. She looked almost bored, tilting it from one side to the other. 

“Nakonets,” She growled, not glancing up from the logs. “I was growing worried that you’d forgotten about Mommy Dearest.” 

Eleanor Bishop still held a bit of poise, even in the disheveled state she was in. Thick steel chains were around her midsection, keeping her legs and arms in place with multiple loops. The lock was somewhere behind her, you assumed. Out of reach. 

Though her skin had healed nicely, the evidence of Natasha’s work with the firepoker was evident. Blood and sweat bordered holes in clothing that had burned away, had boiled skin and slipped through flesh in a way that was almost chemical. 

Her head lolled back, eyes exhausted, but cruel smile on her face. Her laugh crackled through the room. “I should have known.” 

Natasha stiffened at the fireplace, shooting her a dagger of a warning. But Eleanor had nothing to lose. She was almost giddy, teeth stained an awful red when she smiled at Kate. Still, she tutted like only a mother would. “Where did I go wrong? Raising a daughter who breaks council law. It was too much for me to hope for your compliance.” 

“Those old rules mean nothing.” Natasha said, stalking across the room like a panther; lithe and dangerous. “Only elitist pricks live by it. You would have seen the signs if it weren’t for your narcissism.” She pitched closer, rumbling viciously. “It was quite obvious. It just pained you so much to see your daughter happy. Hm?” 

Eleanor snorted. “High and mighty as always, Natasha. That’s why most of your putrid bloodline was turned to dust. None of you know your place.” 

To her credit, Natasha leaned back, humming. If the statement bothered her, she didn’t let on. Her perfectly sculpted features were stoic. She handed the firepoker to Kate. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me. But, I have a feeling you won’t.” 

Her stare drifted to you, marginally softer than they had been before. Emerald eyes swept from your feet to your head. “Immortality looks good on you, Kotik.” 

Natasha had never had any issues addressing you directly. The Romanovs adhered to requests rather than demand. But there was a softness to her infliction that you’d never quite heard. Before you could question it further, she made her exit. Silent and seething. 

You knew exactly why Kate had called the older of the two sisters. 

Yelena was outwardly vicious, reckless in a way that was calculated and swift. Natasha was different. She was ruthless. While Yelena knew how to make a scene, Natasha knew how to tamp it down, make it disappear. She had a standing relationship with more than one City official that trickled down to law enforcement. 

Someone as important as Eleanor Bishop could not vanish easily, but Natasha always liked a challenge. 

Kate did not look nervous. She looked like she had done this before. Her eyes darkened, nearly black in their concentration. The firepoker still held an amber glow, pulsing with heat. Kate’s boots were loud against the wooden floor, calculated. Perhaps she didn’t know what to do next. Perhaps she wanted to do too much. 

She reeled back, swiping horizontally with a movement so quick the air split with sound. Eleanor’s head whipped back, thumping against the wood. She was turned away, the force of the hit knocking the words loose from her throat. 

Again, she laughed, the sound tinged with pain. When she turned back to glower at her offspring, a curtain of red dripped from a long gash that missed Eleanor's eye, but was close enough to startle a hitch in her breath. The laceration was already healing, stitching itself back up with a smear of red left behind. 

“All I ever wanted was to be enough for you.” Kate exhaled around her words. “For centuries, I thought that was the only thing that would please you. Even when the world moved on, and you stayed right where you were. Time corrupts. You taught me that.” 

Kate turned, dropped the tip of the prod back into the white-hot flames. Eleanor was watching you, and even at the mercy of Kate’s hand, you could feel dread creeping up your spine. There was so much disdain radiating off her, it nearly had a scent. You weren’t quite sure if that was just a new sensation, or if she really was filled with that much hatred. 

“Ah, so wanting what’s best for my only daughter is a crime that must be persecuted? Forgive me for trying to be a good mother.” 

This time, it was Kate who laughed. “Oh, I’ve forgiven you, mother. Over and over again, I’ve absolved your behavior. Making excuses was easier, and for a long time, I did think that you had my best intentions in mind. That’s not something an egoist is capable of.” 

She turned to face her mother, twisting the prod in her hand, watching the sharpened tip twirl like a carnival ride. There was hurt in her gaze, a longing, you were sure. She wished so desperately for a mother who loved her in small ways and in larger ones. 

“You saw the first thing in my life that ever had a chance of making it worth living and because it wasn’t you that could control the fragility of it, you tried to snuff out the flames altogether.” 

Kate looked at you then, a tenderness to her stare. Insurmountable pain was there. It was met with the slightest of nods from you: Keep going. You’re doing good. I’m here. 

“Now that your stray has been made into a nightwalker, you look to her for confirmation? Katherine, this is what I was worried about! You are better than this. Better than her. You are royalty!” 

“That changes nothing!”

 Kate shouted back, voice bouncing off the glass windows hard enough to shake them. She was close now, screaming in Eleanor’s face. The woman clenched her eyes shut, tried to set her jaw. No one dared to speak to her in this manner. 

She rested either hand on the sides of Eleanor's chair, careful not to actually touch her. Her voice was a low growl, but not low enough to where you couldn’t hear it. “There is nothing better than her, don’t you realize that? We saved each other, and you just keep trying to break us.” 

“You only enjoy your little pet because she’s human. In the ground or immortal makes no difference to me. You’ll become bored of her.” 

“You’re mistaken. I’m human because of her.” Kate leaned back, dropping the cooled part of the firepoker into her palm. “Though, I have grown quite bored of you.” 

Eleanor scoffed, rolled her eyes even. “Oh, Katherine, please stop with the posturing. You’re making a fool out of yourself. Killing me wouldn’t benefit you. Killing me would-” 

Her words were cut off by a gentle squelch. There was the crack of wood splitting as the tip of the prodder went through Eleanor’s throat and embedded itself into the back of the chair. She was stock-still now, eyes widened and the sound of a wet crunch. 

Kate regarded her like a canvas. She took a step back, folding her arms over her chest and tilting her head. You must have huffed, or squeaked, or something, because Kate’s eyes shifted to you, an almost guilty expression on her face. “She was talking too  much.” 

Eleanor growled, or attempted to growl. It was more of an awkward gurgle that produced a mouthful of blood. Kate hummed, watching her mother fight against the prospect of suffocating. 

“You’re right. I’m not going to kill you, that would be too easy.” Kate said, following her mothers gaze as it widened and landed on you. There wasn’t necessarily pain there. Instead, there was contempt. A malice that, yes, you certainly could scent. 

“She’s not going to kill you either. Unless,” Kate peers at you, lifting both eyebrows with the infliction of someone ordering a pizza with extra toppings. “Sweetheart, do you think that would satisfy you?” 

“Depends,” You let the word drag, “Did the girl you directed to do your dirty work survive?” 

Another damp cough of a sound, stare narrowing. Eleanor pulled on the chains binding her wrists as if she could bust through the silver. All it did was jostle the firepoker and rattle the metal. She was frustrated, utterly defeated, and that was enough for you. 

“I shouldn’t have asked until you cleared your throat.” 

Kate scoffed, giving you a sharpened smile. “She was confused, but she’s at the hospital recovering. It’s not unlike my mother to use people as pawns. No use in clearing the board.” 

You nodded, entirely satisfied and awash with relief. Kate picked up the glass of bourbon that Natasha had left on the mantle, swallowed it in one go without wincing. 

“Do you remember how you used to punish me?” She asked suddenly, the flatness to her voice returned. Eleanor pulled in a breath, quick and painful. “You called them, fuck what is it… attitude adjustment sessions.” 

Your fists balled out of instinct, nails digging into the cold flesh of your palms and leaving little crescents behind. Something in you had stiffened. You had your own attitude adjustment moments, typically in the freezing car where you were told to wait for a few minutes that turned into hours. 

“I had asked if your father did the same to you, and you scoffed at me. He was too kind a man to come up with a retribution like you had.” Kate crossed her arms over her chest, almost as a shield. “I remember it started as an hour. Then a day. Then a month, and after that, I had lost track of it all, because it’s impossible to keep track of time when all you see is darkness and all you feel is agony.” 

Something in Kate’s voice trembled. It twinged in your chest, made you want to soothe her, lends light to her behavior. The normal and the lower than normal that required nights digging graves and saying a small remembrance to a stranger staring fuzzily at the starless sky. 

“Twelve years.” 

The cold stone in your stomach dropped, you swallowed a sound that would have no merit other than weakness in the eyes of Eleanor Bishop. 

 “For twelve years, you chained me, just like this.” Her voice was incredibly soft and sorrowful, her back to her mother, eyes lighting up with the slowly-dying flames. “Then you shoved me into a winchester floor safe, and you watched as that safe sunk to the bottom of a swamp.” 

This time, your breath did catch. How long ago had this been? Twelve years was a blip in a lifetime, but not for Kate. It was agony, you were sure. And almost as if she finally felt it in her legs, she lowered crouched in front of Eleanor, one hand on her knee, peering up at her. 

“I was trapped in an endless loop of drowning. Of dying brutally, only to wake up fully engulfed in water to repeat the process. There was no use in fighting it. But, that’s what you wanted all along, right? A boundless cycle to break me down into compliance. No fight. No concept of time. Nothing but agony.” 

Kate made a show of groaning as she stood to her full height. In a quick jerk of a motion, she dislodged the iron poker. Eleanor gasped greedily for air. It was a rubber-band of a sound, the horrid creak of a jugular trying to reheal. She coughed, sputtered, gripped the arms of the chair until the wood splintered. Kate didn’t even flinch. 

“Katherine,” Eleanor coughed up black blood “Kate, please. You can’t do this to me. You can’t.” 

“But I will.” 

“People will know. I run a company!” 

Kate looked back at you, eyes sparked with something dangerous. Attractive. She didn’t need to prompt you any further. The well-deserved distress in her mothers voice was enough for you. 

Your voice was pitched up, polite, the perfect mockery of customer service. “Eleanor? Oh, I’m afraid she’s out of the country on business. Her line was disconnected? You know those international phone plans. They’re so finicky.” 

“You vile, abominable creature-” 

Kate gripped her mothers cheeks, squeezing in the way puckered her lips, parted her jaws. “I think it’s time that you stop talking. You hardly run your company. You think your daughter does such a swell job that you’ve signed it over. You may look young, but it’s time for retirement.” 

Eleanor was nearly frothing at the mouth, the snarl was inhuman, unhinged with desperation. “I made you. I can slaughter you just the same.”