Chapter Two: Fire

[Simon Toews]

Street lights passed through the windows the car, crossing the silent, blood-streaked face of Simon. His eyes were ahead and alert, but he was clearly elsewhere. The world, the life he'd built now lay behind, a smoking, burning husk. He had nothing. Nothing but her and a quiet, burning rage that called for one thing: Retribution. Bot first, he had to get them safe so he could come up with a plan.

Tahlia's head rested on his shoulder, her own shaking with the occasional cough. Her body was doing what it did best, and if they were both covered in blood, at least it was mostly other peoples and not being added to. She was, she knew, going to be sick from the toxins, but right now, coughing was much better than the alternative. They needed someplace to lay low...and clean up. Bloody-faced or not, she raised her head and brushed a kiss to his cheek.

There was barely a reaction to the kiss, just a concerned glance at her. It wasn't anger. It wasn't annoyance. It just was. His eyes taking her in a moment, seeing what he'd almost lost. Seeing what he'd allowed himself to become again before returning to the road ahead before she saw the longing in his eyes. The car pulled up to a seedy little motel on the outskirts of town. Out of Vicelli's sphere of influence, away from it all. Some place they could regroup. For a long moment, he only sat there, silent beside her. The only sound, their breathing. And then, finally, he exited the car.

The man behind the counter stared wide-eyed at the blood soaked man standing before him. Simon slapped down a massive brick of money, looked him in the eye, and said simply. "I was never here. Room."

The man nodded, terrified and pulled down a key. "Room 12."

Simon snatched the key and disappeared out the office.

She sagged for a moment before catching herself. Reaching down beneath the driver's seat, she tugged the trunk release, and then rose, her hip sliding against the Spitfire's panels as she made her way around, pulling two decent sized black duffle bags from inside, and pressing the trunk's hood back with a click that echoed in the stillness. Her hair fell to curtain her face, watching him come back with the key, eyes tracking which door to head to. She always expected to run...for the first time, she hadn't been able to imagine running alone.
The adrenaline had started to wear off and the wounds were starting to take their toll. Simon moved along to the door, a hitch in his step as he made it to the room, glancing back at her through the mask of blood and waiting patiently for her.

A bag in each hand, she followed him into the room, hoisting both onto the bed before turning to face him. What could she possibly say? He'd lost everything and saved her.

"Strip...shower...I...Jesu, I don't know what I can do except stop the bleeding...."

His nose had stopped, but the cut at his chest was still open. "You got a needle and thread in there?"

He peeled the ruined henley from his battered torso, his skin streaked with wet redness. Bruises had formed upon his back, the only place not covered in blood.

"Maybe? Something..." It took her a minute to think through the smoke. With the danger over, alone with him, and uncertain...the screams were starting again. "I think so, yeah. But you need to clean up. And I..." She shook her head, glass still littering her skin. "I don't want you to see what this is going to look like..."

He nodded slowly. Eyes searching her a moment. Unsure of what to say, so he turned and walked into the bathroom, the grip of a pistol still in his waistband

[John Calloway]

Calloway stood outside of the burning Factory that had once been Toews’ home. Toews had managed to lose him on the way to the Auditorium. He’d just left the aftermath of the gunfight. Bodies and blood were everywhere there...and he could just imagine how bad it was here.

Any other man would assume Toews and Faras were dead inside that building...but he knew them. The pair were resourceful...persistent. No, he would bet his life that they were alive and hiding out somewhere.

The Watch was on-sight, as people went to work on putting out the fires. The familiar purple-eyed, raven-haired sight of Ilyia Marks approached him, an unfavorable expression on her face.

“Mr. Calloway. You’re still in Rhydin.” She said, though there was no surprise in her voice. He didn’t respond, just stared at that fire. Ilyia gestured to the burning building. “Are you satisfied now?”

Calloway turned to her, a dangerous look in his eyes. “No. No I’m not.”

“It’s time for you to leave.” She said icily. “Your time in Rhydin is at an end.”

“Tahlia Faras is still alive.” He fairly growled. “I’m not done here by a damn sight.”

Those violet eyes narrowed. “You have 24 hours. If you are not gone by then, you will be removed. Is that understood?”

He didn’t respond, he just glared.

“Pack your things. Go home.”

“I can’t.” He whispered. “Not yet.”

“Then the next time we meet...it will not be so pleasant.” Ilyia responded.

“I’m willing to risk that.” Calloway nodded.

“Goodbye, Mr. Calloway.” She said. “I wish you luck. You’ll need it.”

[Simon Toews]

As the cool water washed over him, tinged pink running down the drain, Simon finally took a breath. Those battered hands propped up against the tiles of the shower. Everything hurt. Not just the physical, but something deeper. Way down inside, a dull, familiar ache had awoken. Don’t get involved, he had told himself. Don’t let anyone in. It had been his way of life for over a decade. Years of casual one-nighters and throw-away lovers had served him so well… but here he was. Completely unprepared and trapped by something he could not control, could not stop. Tahlia wasn’t the fling he had intended. She was more. She was precious to him...and he would die to protect her.

This is why, Toews, he told himself. This is why you don’t open up.

He was smitten, and they knew it. They had gone after her because of him. Because she was his. That was unacceptable. He would have to make it right.

Moment’s later, Simon returned, wrapped in a towel, more or less the man she’d known, though the extent of his injuries were very much apparent. His nose was badly busted and bruising had spread to around his eyes, a nasty gash at the bridge of his nose. Minor cuts scattered about his face. Bruises along his ribs, his back, his arms...And then that gaping slash at the left side of his chest, still oozing a bit of blood, held in check by a rag.

"Any luck?"

Tahlia turned her eyes upon his battered body, a sympathetic look coming over her features.

"oh..for fuck sake..."

Mindless, for the moment, of her own hurt, although one arm looked like she'd lost a fight with a big cat, and it looked like someone had attacked her with a bedazzler, she grabbed a packet of powder, needle and thread, and crossed over to him. The closer she got, the less he bled, and with her standing in front of him, it seemed to ooze in the other direction. "Yeah. Just...hold still." She could wait...although she could feel her stomach begin to protest as she sprinkled the healing powder liberally, and ran her fingers along the gash.

He sucked the air in through his teeth in a wince, but compartmentalized the pain until she was done. Frankly, it was a minor miracle, he could still stand. Tahlia’s fingers worked at sewing up the wound. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it would have to do for now.

"It shouldn't scar, not with the powder...Louis's a wiz with this kind of thing..." She hadn't bothered to replace her glamour, not with everything else. Checking her work, she lifted her eyes to his for a moment, then looked over her shoulder at the two bags. "There's...the second one is yours. I...yeah."

Simon looked to the bag and then to her, but she was well on her way into the bathroom. For a moment a smile crossed his lips. She'd packed him a bug-out bag...She'd thought of him in her preparations to run. She wasn’t going to make this easy, was she?

Tahlia couldn't wait any longer, otherwise she was going to be sick all over him. And the pain was starting to take over. Brushing past him, she bolted into the bathroom. The smile faded from his face as the door shut. With a sigh, he got himself dressed, slipping the black T-shirt over his wrecked body and eased himself down to sit upon a chair beside the window and loaded the shotgun he'd stolen off one of Vicelli's men.

Tahlia ran her fingers down her face a moment, breathing in a deep, shakey breath and pushed aside the shower curtain. Turning the water on as high and as hot as she could stand, she stripped out of what was left of her clothing, and grabbed a hand towel, twisting it and shoving it between her teeth as she let her blood do what it had been fighting to do since the fire. Tears streaked down her face, sobs of pain muffled to near inaudibility beneath the waters rush and the gag as the glass was pushed out by an oily black sheen...smoke, ash, and whatever other toxins she'd breathed in or rolled during the fight. Sinking to the floor of the tub, she bowed her head and let the water wash everything down the drain.

Simon sat in that chair, watching outside, deep in thought, just waiting. He wasn’t even sure what he was waiting for. Part of him expected a non-descript black vehicle to roll up with a bunch of gun-toting mooks ready to light the place up. Maybe Calloway would show up with the black fury of the Watch at his back, ready to bring them both down.

Simon let out a sigh and glanced down the stitches. Right above the wound, he could see the tattoo. "Cici". It had nearly been cut, missed by less than an inch. The name called up those images again. The little brown haired, blue eyed girl who had been his entire life...who had claimed all of his heart. Those big eyes that were mirrors of his own. He could almost hear her laugh...see her smile. And then all he could think of was the last time he’d seen her face...and how she'd been taken away.

Tahlia stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, her wounds bright candy red against her skin...but not bleeding. Crimson hair spilled wetly across her shoulders, and she padded quietly over to her bag, dropping the towel to slip on a pair of black silk underwear, and a tank top. It was going to take a minute before she'd be able to stand fabric against the cuts. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she nibbled at her bottom lip, and watched him for a moment. "Simon?"

Like he'd snapped out of a trance, his eyes flicked to her, almost panicked. He got ahold of himself, looking around the room before settling on her. "Hey. You alright?"

"Yeah...yeah..I..." Her voice died, and she shook her head. He'd earned honesty from her, even about this. "No...not really." Blood and soot gone, beyond the peppering of glass cuts, and the path of birdshot...her throat was turning red and purple, from Rocco's hands. If she stopped to think, she wouldn't, so she didn't stop...simply rose, and curled herself into his lap, her head buried in his shoulder. "You saved me. Again."

His arm curved up and rested gently against her back, his cheek leaning and resting against her forehead. "Yeah..." He whispered. He wished had something more interesting or profound to say, but that was all that came out. His thumb stroked her back absently, just something to do. The feel of her skin beneath the pad of his thumb giving him something else to concentrate on other than all of this.

"You keep doing that..." Her voice slid into a soft drawl, eyes closed and lashes flicking as she gave in to pain and exhaustion and gave in to the warmth of him against her, the slow drag of his thumbpad across her spine...and the smell of him that filled her lungs..and drifted off, clinging tightly.

A little smile crossed his lips. “It’s a habit.”

[Simon Toews]

Simon lay beside her for hours, chasing a slumber that would never come. The only thing he could do was stare at the ceiling and listen to her breathe. His eyes fixated on a mark upon the ceiling while his mind ran a mile a minute. When he glanced at the clock on the nightstand, it read 4:00 AM. With a sigh, he carefully slipped out of bed, trying not to wake her.

The light of the moon shone in through the window, illuminating him in a light blueish tinge. There, he stood watch, keeping his eyes on that empty parking lot, and the open road. His fingers ran along the barrel of the shotgun a moment, images of the past night playing in his mind's eye. Cotter. Vicelli. Everything.

Tahlia was fine as long as he was beside her...but the moment he moved, she started to whimper, softly, until she snapped awake with a sharp gasp, eyes wide and focused on something far away. It took a moment before she realized the light was wrong - the air blue, not red. Not searing hot and filled with anger, not filled with dying screams, or the feel of her siblings tugging her away. She was...if not safe, at least not there.


Tears streaked her face as she scrambled to sit up, knees tucked against her chest. It wasn't enough, even with her arms wrapped around her legs. What she wanted, what she needed, was to be curled in his arms, against his chest, where she was safe.

Maybe it was the cut that now served as an underline. Maybe it was just the heat of everything, the revelation of what he was and how he was. he'd seen him unclothed a million times, but for some reason...tonight "Cici" stood out. Her eyes traced the letters, "Simon?"

His fingers left the gun and he turned to her, sitting upon the bed, wrapping one arm around her to pull her close as he leaned back against the headboard. "Yeah?"

She snuggled against his chest, her fingers rising to trace those suddenly obvious letters on his chest. "Who's Cici?" It wasn't quite what she'd meant to say, but the words were out and in the air before she could catch them

Something inside seemed to crawl right into his heart and squeeze. His eyes drifted down to her and then stared ahead. He was silent for a long time before he answered. "My daughter." The pain in those words. Two simple words held a lifetime of anguish.

"Oh. I didn't...know." It was right there...the implication of past tense. Not only past, but past and painful. "I'm sorry, Simon..."

"The young guy from the locker room..." He whispered.

"The one...the pissy one. Who nearly hit you." Her sympathies in this were clear.

He nodded, swallowing hard, eyes locked ahead, but his thoughts clearly elsewhere. "His father killed her."

Although her lashes dropped for a moment...she'd never known her father, but she'd watched her mother die. She knew that pain. But his...his wrenched inside her like someone had grabbed her heart and was trying to wring every last drop of blood from her. "I...oh Simon....I'm sorry...I can't...I can't imagine. Losing my mother...but a child. Your..." She simply wrapped herself around him, and held him close.

"Sometimes...I don't even know that she's gone. It's like... I can just walk into the other room and see her sleeping on the couch because she got out of her bed to watch TV or something..." He swallowed hard. "And maybe I can go carry her back to her room and tuck her in...tell her I love her...that everything's going to be okay. And she's safe..."

Those eyes stared off, dark and distant. "...but I can't." He said.


Suddenly, so much made sense about him. Why he was often so distant. Why he didn't do relationships. Why he never let anyone in. Why he spent so much time in a drunken, stupor, getting his face pounded in at the fights. Why he didn't seem to care.

Quiet for a moment. "I know she's gone. I know I can't have her back, so I try to forget...just how long I've been alone...and how the one time was not enough to punish the man who took her from me."

That she understood all too well. "I get that...it's never enough. Not for something like that." Centuries hadn't been enough to bury her need for answers, her need to punish everyone for the long-dead villagers who had killed her mother. "Nothing is." Not even her, she knew...and she swallowed tightly, tears leaking from beneath her lashes. She'd realized something in the middle of the fire...something she'd never expected, and now...she could hardly give voice to it.

The pair just stay there, curled together in silence. Safe, yet utterly vulnerable.

[Simon Toews]

Tahlia tugged the longsleeved crop-top down as far as it would go...leaving just a band of sun-kissed skin bare between her ribs, and where the tight leather pants clung just above the widest curve of her hips. She'd fallen asleep in his arms after another nightmare, and woken to find Simon already awake and preparing. As calm as she seemed, she was fidgety - more because of the revelations of the night before than the fight ahead.

The duffel bags had been packed with everything either of them might need, including weapons, clothes, and cash, as well as first aid kits and a few other random items. They might be heading out to fight the good fight, but she clearly saw no reason not to look smoking hot while they did so. Checking her hair, swept into a high sleek ponytail of dark crimson, she managed to stealth up behind Simon, and wrap her arms around his ribs, subtly checking that Louis' powder was working its magic.

He was in the midst of pulling on his shirt when she came up to him, a bandage was across his busted nose, and bruising spilling over around his bright blue eyes. His gaze shifted back to her, a little smile upturning his lips. "Hey..."

"Hey..." Her smile matched his, and she bumped her nose against his shoulder before letting go. Twin Glocks were nestled in a shoulder harness, and there were blades hidden in various spots across her body, including her boots and the small of her back. Just because she preferred to keep her hide intact didn't mean she didn't know how to fight when she needed to. Tugging on a leather jacket to hide the guns, she tossed him the keys to the Spitfire, Simon snatching them out of the air and pocketing them. "You ready?" He asked her pulling an overcoat on to conceal his own shoulder holstered firearms and snagging the shotgun from the bed.

"As I'll ever be..." Flashing a smile, she turned the knob, and stepped outside, falling into step as they crossed the short distance to the car, and slid inside, the little convertible a quiet haven as they pulled out, and headed toward the train station.

Simon had pointed out that her car was a touch noticeable...and besides, if they'd had them under surveillance, it was easy to recognize. She hadn't liked it, but she'd agreed.

The past 24 hours played in his mind over and over again. The heat, the blood, the chaos of it all lingered in his mind. Nothing more so than he and Tahlia’s conversation. Things he long ago had decided to keep to himself came pouring out and he wished he could say he didn’t know why. What had happened to Cici was something he didn't talk about to anyone. He knew what it meant that he had shared it with her. And that absolutely terrified him. He knew what he had to do. Even though it would most definitely hurt her, he knew that there was a right move here and he would do it. Slowly his eyes turned to her, listening in silence, letting her talk.

Shifting in the seat - because other than Luke, no-one, ever, had been allowed to drive her baby, she nibbled at her bottom lip, watching Simon from beneath her lashes. "About last night..."

She hadn't spoken about that night in centuries, but he deserved to know - especially when she'd spent a solid half hour sobbing against his chest after waking up in a cold sweat. And he'd told her about his daughter. She could feel...shivering, her eyes dropped to her hands, twisting in her lap. "I don't think we were more than...10. It was a backward village...twins would have been bad enough, but there were four of us. Not identical, but still...the other children weren't allowed to play with us, and any time anything went wrong, we were blamed." Taking a deep breath, she looked up at the roof, trying to blink back tears. "That spring - the crops had failed, there had been a fever...I guess they decided it was finally too much. They waited until a moonless night...very late...and crept up to the cottage with torches..."

"I'm not sure which one of us woke first...I just remember Luke throwing me over his shoulder, and the heat...the flames had nearly taken the house, but somehow we found a way out...and the screams. Merde...I thought there were demons, at first...the village children used to taunt us that our mother was a witch, and we were born of the devil - they didn't like redheads much either, really...so I was often the target. Luke and Louis protected me as much as they could, and Tonia would fight them off..." She ran a finger under her lashes - it had never gotten easier to think of, or speak about, so she just...didn't. "We made it out...but just the four of us. Mama...didn't."

Simon divided his time between listening and paying attention to the road, eyeing her when he got the opportunity. His brow furrowed as she finished "Jesus." He muttered. "I'm sorry." He had never known his parents. He was aware that he was the son of a whore who never wanted him and grew up in and out of terrible foster homes until he was sold into fighting pits when he was a teenager.

The corner of her mouth lifted, and she ducked her head in a silent acknowledgment - she hadn't had any more of an idea what to say to him about losing his daughter. So much was left unspoken, but she couldn't...not now. He'd been clear from the beginning, they both had. She couldn't change things now. "With her gone...no idea who our father was...we left. Right then. With nothing but our nightclothes. Louis and Tonia went back the next night, to scrounge what they could...I couldn't. I've never been back. It's gone now...Tonia and Louis saw to that while Luke and I were...elsewhere. But I could never forgive them...anyone, really. We've only had each other since...forever." Wiping at her cheeks, she stared at the window...she didn't dare look at his face. They were getting close.

"You're the first person I've ever...trusted...outside of my siblings." Because trusted was so much safer than the alternative. "I'm sorry I've caused you so much trouble..." The last statements were quiet, the usually brash minx contrite, and vulnerable. "But we'll get them back...for everything. Find you another warehouse..." She was starting to regain her calm, and just in time - the station was just ahead.

"You have nothing to be sorry for. I knew the risks." He said, glancing sidelong to her. "I'd do it again."

"Yeah?" She chanced a small smile, fitting on her mask again. "Maybe someone with a smaller crew next time..." She felt the car stop more than she saw it, and finally turned to face him, one hand reaching for his. "We got this, killer...you ready to go do some damage?"

One of those battered, misshapen strong hands grabbed her's, a smile forming on his face. "I am." A pang of guilt hit him, eyes forward, brow creased with empathy. All the things she meant to him that he never said, never admitted came flooding in. But still...the words wouldn't leave his mouth. Couldn't.

Simon killed the engine and exited the car, leading her into the mostly empty train station after making sure he had what he needed. It wasn't odd that he was quiet. That was actually pretty much par for the course. But there was something else in his demeanor. Though, they were both a little in their own heads at the moment, and she was more concerned about scanning the crowd and keeping the weapons out of sight than she was about watching him. The hand he'd grabbed kept flexing...she was hyper aware of the heat of his skin, and its absence seemed to distract her. Shaking off the last remnants, she spotted the train pulling in, and glanced back over her shoulder to make certain he was still with her.

He watched her as they waited, memorizing everything about her in that moment. The red hair, the curve of her lips, the shape of her eyes. That determined, hard look to her that somehow made her look even more alluring. Finally, he stepped onto that train when it arrived. Every fiber of his being telling him to stay. Take this train where it was going.

But that was want. Not need.

He looked her in the eyes as their hands wrapped around one of the poles in the middle of the car. "Tahlia?"

"Yeah?" She blinked, caught staring, her hand just below his on the pole. Once they were done...then she'd tell him about the job in Westport. For now, she was focused. On him, on what they were about to do. Mostly on him...the way he'd gotten under her skin, the way he looked at her like she was ... just the most delicious thing he'd ever seen. The way he'd become so much more than she could find words for. She ducked her head, glancing up from beneath her lashes, and the sweep of crimson bangs, hoping he couldn't see the warmth dotting her cheeks.

He leaned in close, pressing his lips so softly to her's, melting into a deep, loving kiss. Every bit of want, every hope for the future, every bit of frustrating ecstasy that he felt for her poured into it. If he could have, he’d stay there forever. But that was not an option. Their lips parted and, lingering near her, he finally whispered...

"I'm sorry."

Having melted into the kiss, Tahlia was completely taken by surprise when the cold kiss of metal snicked into place, his first words barely registering in her distraction. The warm fog that his kisses always caused had been heightened by all they'd shared in the last 24 hours...and it wasn't until she tugged to catch at him that she realized what he'd done. The glaze burned away in an instant, green eyes sharp as cut glass as the metal cuff rattled against the pole. "Simon? What the fuck?”

"I'm so sorry.” His jaw set as he backed away out of her reach toward the open door leading out to the platform, dropping the key on a seat far from her. “But I don't want you there when what's about to happen goes down."

The next stop would take her far away, where someone would be recovering her and keeping her safe. It killed him to do it. He knew she'd never forgive him...but it was for the best. It wasn't likely that he'd survive this fight...and damned if he was bringing her down with him.

“Simon - you can't do this alone...why are you...give me the key. Dammit...!" She raged, not even bothering to reach for the key, her eyes desperately searching his face for some clue.

He shook his head slowly. "No. I can't." He said, backing away looking even more vulnerable and hurt than she had ever seen him. as the train chimed it's warning that it was about to depart.

"Why?" She didn't understand...couldn't. And she knew she couldn't break the cuffs grip on her wrist before the train pulled away. Stilling, she turned wide, uncomprehending eyes on his. She'd killed Rocco, after all...he knew, better than anyone, what she was capable of... "Please..."

That pain in his chest was just too damn much. He wanted to look away. To turn and run. But Simon looked her in the eye, and for the first time in years said the absolute truth.

"Because I love you." He said, voice breaking. "And I can't have that."

In the lingering silence that followed, the doors slid shut...and the car began move. He stood there, watching sadly. This is what life was. Life was pain, life was loss, and when you loved someone, you always hurt them. You always said goodbye. It had happened with Cici. It would happen with her. Only goodbye was happening on his terms. Goodbye was keeping her alive.

She was stunned...barely managing to keep her jaw from dropping, she started moving forward, restraint forgotten in the drive to get to him...and she was brutally reminded as the cuff caught her up short and jerked her back, the force bringing her flat to the floor. Scrambling up, the scream that tore from her throat hadn't been heard in nearly 300 years. Cursing in every language she knew, she spent the rest of the trains journey frantically fighting to get loose, then trying to squeeze her hand down through the cuff...finally collapsing with fierce, frustrated tears, with no other alternative than hoping some kind stranger wandered into the car.

[Corrine Paige]

Tahlia was stuck on that train for a half an hour before it finally rolled to a stop. When the doors opened only one person stepped inside. She was tall, a sort of regal presence to her natural beauty. Wild, bushy hair kept pulled back by a headband, and dark eyes and flawless dark skin clad in a leather jacket and tight jeans. And, impossible to miss was the missing left arm paired with the slight limp. Those keen eyes landed on the girl. "Tahlia." She said in greeting. It wasn't a question. Not unless there was another pissed-off looking girl handcuffed on a train.

Green eyes the color of tornado-laden skies lifted to the stranger, somehow only more dangerous for the tears that streaked her cheeks and pooled along her lashes. "And just who, the fuck are you?" It hit her in a rush then - he'd set this up before they left the motel..."Let me guess - you're my jailer? Right? He has to know I'm not going to just...let him get himself killed." She watched the woman warily, appraising her, and slowly regained her feet, hiding all but the slightest tightening of her lips as the cuff tugged at the hidden bruises on her wrist.

"I'm Corrine Paige." She said simply. "I'm here to get you to safety." She snatched up the key, walking back toward her, a sort of impatience in her entire bearing. "I'm going to uncuff you. Now, I promised Simon I would get you to safety. But if you give me a lick of trouble...if you try to run...girl, I don't care how many limbs I'm missin', I will knock you the fuck out. Understand? How I get you there doesn't matter as long as you're alive."

"I'm going to run. You can count on that. Do you know what that bastard did?" Even still, there was no denying the predatory readiness in every fiber of her tiny being. "You go right ahead and uncuff me. Tell him I knocked you out. I don't care what you tell him." Those storm-filled eyes turned to Paige, roiling between rage and pain. "He told me he loved me and then he went off to die. And if you think that's happening...hell, if you're ok with that happening...than he should never have trusted you. But I am not letting the only man I've ever...that I..." She couldn't quite get the word out, and jerked her arm against the cuff in frustration. "Uncuff me, get me a car, tell me where I can find some Ascend and then just let me go to him...I'll tell him you tried really hard to stop me. Promise."

Corrine smirked, eyeing her. “I can see why he likes you.” She walked over and undid the cuff from the pole, but those years as a cop had her moving quick, latching Tahlia's other wrist behind her back. Even one-handed it was obvious that the woman knew how to handle herself. “But that ain’t how this is gonna go, sweetness.” She put a shoulder into Tahlia pushing her forward out onto the platform.

"And how long have you been his bitch, huh?" Tahlia was perfectly capable of being pleasant, when she was so inclined....this was not one of those times.

Paige pushed her up against a wall, leaning in close. “You listen to me, bright eyes. I ain’t nobody’s bitch.” She let up a moment. "Now, I get it. It's infuriating. Toews wants to play white knight all the sudden. Keep you out the game and go down with the ship. Believe me, I get it." She nodded. "But he wants you safe. He wants you here and that's my job. Do not test me. You make this easy on both us and we won’t have a problem.” Paige warned giving her nudge forward out the door.

"Why? So you can go to sleep tonight not thinking about him taking on a cadre of mob goons? Not gonna happen..." She barely managed not to stumble, refusing to give the one-armed woman the satisfaction.

"Yeah, well, he's known for it." She grumbled.

Paige led her through the place looking around for any witnesses. Thankfully, at this hour nobody was around.. "Toews isn't much of a talker. What's he lookin' at?" She asked.

"Whatever's left of the Vicelli's after they firebombed his place last night. With me in it." She slowed, so she didn't have to crane her head back to speak, or raise her voice...you never knew where there could be ears.

"Vincenzo Vicelli?" She asked a shade of concern crossing her face. She knew all about Vicelli. Knew what that man was capable of. She also knew Simon in the same way. He would bring holy hellfire upon that place...but even he wasn't likely to walk away from this one.

""The one and only." Tahlia said. “And seeing as Rocco Vicelli is no longer among the living, and Vinny's out a quarter mil...I don't think they'll be talking much.”

Corrine shook her head with a sigh. “Boy’s consistent, I’ll give him that.”

Tahlia glared over her shoulder. “You didn't answer my question...how long has he been jerking your chain?"

"11 years ago, he saved my life. Coulda left me for dead, pinned under a shipping container. Instead, all I got was a hitch in my step and the end of my career as a drummer." She kept her head on swivel, eyes checking every corner as she directed Faras out of the station. "I’m still here because a' him."

Tahlia stopped, turning to look Corrine square in the eye. "You're going to let the man who saved your life go into the mouth of hell alone." The breeze caught her hair, sent it unfurling like a banner behind her.

A moment of hesitation crossed Paige’s eyes, her teeth clenching lightly. Just a brief second, but it was enough of an opening.

"I can help him. Look at me. You're not stupid, you know I can. Let me go. Please..." Something about the time clicked. "Cotter. He…fuck. You knew him then, yes? You know what happened..."

Paige tensed visibly. "How do you know that name?" There was a hint of something in her voice. Fear, maybe anger. It meant something to her.

“He told me. He told me everything.” Tahlia explained.

“Then you know that Cotter’s dead.” she said simply...though a hint of uncertainty in her tone was impossible to miss.

"His kid isn't. And he's with Vicelli. And Simon is headed there. Right. Now. Alone." She saw the opening, and pressed, using just the slightest bit of the gift that was so much a part of her. "Is that what you want? To leave him for dead when you could help him, the way he helped you?"

A weary sigh left the former detective. She grit her teeth and shut her eyes. "I don't believe I'm fuckin' doin' this..." Paige said, spinning the girl around and undoing the cuffs. "Get in the car." She ordered, stepping around to the driver's door, slipping into the driver's seat.

"Don't worry, sugar...he's going to be too pissed at me to be mad at you." Wringing her hands, she felt carefully at the injured wrist. Time for that later. "Ascend. Weapons I got. I just...I need one pill." She couldn't believe she was considering it, again...but if she got there, and Simon was dead...she'd flood the street with blood. "And you stay outside."

"Girl, after the lecture you just gave me, I know you ain't gonna try and pull that shit." She said. "You want to save him? I'm backing you up." She started the car, put it into gear and hit the gas.

Tahlia gave an exaggerated sigh, but the smirk that accompanied it resembled the proverbial cats. “Fine. Only because I like you. And Simon likes you.” That, and she’d heard the ring in Corinne’s voice that said the woman was going in whether she liked it or not. The little redhead could respect that - she was doing the same thing. She thought about warning Corinne again about the drug...but if she took it, it meant they were too late - and if that was the case, she wasn’t going to care who else died. The smirk blazed to a feral, anticipatory grin, and she winked at the driver. “Let’s do this thing.”

[Simon Toews]

Simon stared down the scope of his rifle and the last of the gunmen on the roof fell, the smell of gunpowder filling his nostrils and setting the adrenaline flowing. Seven in total, stationed all around. He had to hand it to Vicelli. He had his shit together. The rifle would stay where it was.

He pulled the hood of his jacket up over his head and set on down to the street, walking directly toward Vicelli’s building, remainder of his weapons hidden beneath his coat. He discreetly palmed a blade as he entered.

“Sir, building’s close for the night.” the guard at the post said. But Simon did not stop. “Sir?” He repeated. “Are you deaf? I said we’re closed!” He said, hand going to his firearm as he grabbed SImon by the arm.

The blade flipped out and jammed in the man’s stomach, the air leaving his body in a wheeze as he collapsed. The guard at the elevator reached for his sidearm, but Simon had drawn the downed man’s gun and put a quick bullet between the man’s eyes. The guard slammed back as blood splattered against the elevator doors. Simon wiped the blade of his knife on his coat and moved on to the elevator, nudging the button for the 12th floor suite and waited for the doors to close.

Calloway pulled up outside of the building. He had figured Toews would be here. He paused, stepping past the body upon the floor, oozing life. The display above the doors indicated that the elevator was on its way up, the most likely destination: 12. He wasted no time, charging through the emergency doors and started running up the stairs. For once, he was appreciative of the seemingly endless fitness tests they put him through in the Bureau.

Back upstairs, the elevator chimed open, Simon stepping out with a pair of silenced pistols. One shot to the left and one to the right put the men flanking the doorway out. When he stepped out into the living room, men were busy playing poker, completely unaware of what had just happened. They didn’t even have time to draw their weapons before, one by one, he executed them, a cold, emotionless expression upon his face.

He moved slowly, deliberately up the stairs, catching a man just coming out of a room. “Hey! What-” he said, but Simon jabbed him in the throat, his body turning as the man fell to his knees. Simon knocked apart his hands and brought his knife up, quickly slitting the man’s neck.

Calloway charged up the stairs, weapon still drawn. His veins felt like they were pumping battery acid. It was raw determination driving him now. If Toews was here, he figured, it was likely that Faras was with him. Revenge drove the agent to one singular end. For Smitty, he repeated to himself, working through that pain. Thoughts of reason and doubt doing everything they could to break his concentration. Was it right? Probably not. Was he going to cross a line he couldn’t return from? Now was not the time, he told himself.

Do it, John. Do it and get it over with.

Simon kicked open the door to Vicelli’s office, finding the man sitting there, a glass of scotch in his hand. The man looked pretty worse for wear. Eyes rimmed red. A look Simon had seen before in himself. The look of a man who had lost that which was dearest to him. Vicelli may not have been a warm man to his son, but he was still a father. He eyed Simon with pure hatred.

“Mister Toews.” He said simply.

Simon nodded. “Mister Vicelli. You really should have cut your losses.”

Vicelli shrugged, that drunken haze mixed with pain on his face. “What’s the point? What more can you take from me? You killed my son.” He laughed bitterly.

“No. No I didn’t.” he informed the man. “But the girl who did? She drained his ass dry.”

“She…” Vincenzo said with a grin. “Your little girlfriend? My boys are gonna find her. They’re gonna do things to her that would make even a hard-ass like you weep.”

Simon lowered his gun a moment, watching the broken man take one last gulp of scotch. Vicelli turned his eyes up to him. “Cotter told me. What his old man did to your kid.” He said. “When my boys are done with your little whore...it’s gonna make that look like a fuckin’ picni-”

Simon raised the weapon and put a round straight into Vicelli’s heart, The old man lurched back in his chair, his breath coming out in a high wheeze. Simon watched the man struggle to breathe, a bit of blood coming out of his mouth in a string of red drool. Slowly the life left him as red bloomed out on his shirt. Finally, his head hung completely limp. Satisfied, Simon laid the pistol down upon the table before Vicelli’s body. He turned and headed for the door, finding Cotter standing there, pistol drawn.

Simon heard the shot before his body registered the pain in his chest. He jerked back like someone had yanked him away, the agony slowly rising through him as he hit the ground. Cotter stood over him, his face grim and not at all registering the triumph of this moment

Simon stumbled back and slumped back against a desk in a daze.

“It was a mistake for you come back here.” Cotter said, staring down at his prey. “I’ve waited so long for this moment. To see you here...bleedin’ out. To see that look in your eye. See you lose that one thing you took from me.”

Simon tried to reach up for his weapon, but Cotter pushed his heel against the chest wound drawing an agonized groan out him. “No, no, no, no, Toews. It’s over. And listen…” he told him in a soothing voice. “Don’t worry about Faras. I’m gonna send her screamin’ to you and that little bitch my old man turned into a fuckn’ barbecue.” That sadistic smile crossed his face again. “I apologize in advance. You may not recognize her after what I done to her.”

Simon stared up at him, seething with rage. “Go to hell.” was all he could manage.

Cotter rose the pistol, leveled at Simon’s head. “After you.”

The door suddenly kicked open, Calloway, panting, armed with a shotgun saw Cotter standing an already wounded Toews. The movement of the pistol was enough threat for his response. He shouldered the shotgun, took aim and shredded Cotter’s chest with one percussive blast of his firearm. Cotter slammed back against the desk and slowly slumped to the ground, his head turning to Simon, his lips moving to say something...but no sound came. Cotter fell dead into Simon’s lap.

Simon wheezed, staring at the body as Calloway turned the weapon on him. “What do you say, Toews? Sick of runnin’?”

Simon wheezed and weakly rose his middle finger to the man. Calloway grinned.

“Where’s Faras?” He asked the wounded man.

Simon didn’t respond beyond a shake of his head. He was still protecting her.

[Simon Toews]

Tahlia would, grudgingly, give Paige credit for driving skills… only she or Simon could likely have gotten there faster. She didn't ask why the one-armed woman knew where Vicelli holed up. To be honest, she didn't much care. Her only concern was getting to Simon - keeping him alive if she could, and if they were too late… there was a little red pill in a glassine bag tucked in her pocket.

Everything seemed eerily quiet as they rolled up, Paige glanced out the window, spying the corpse lying on the ground through the front doors.

“I’m guessin’ that’s our boy…” she muttered.

The redhead suddenly bolted from the car, sans guns, a throwing knife in each hand.

“Whoa, whoa WHOA! Where the fuck are you going?!”

Tahlia, deaf to her screams simply stepped over the rapidly cooling body in the foyer without a second glance. She headed for the elevator, foot tapping impatiently the whole ride up, barely glancing back at Paige, the former detective scrambling out of her vehicle.

“Tahlia, wait!” She screamed, hobbling as fast as she could as the elevator doors slid shut. Paige bumped into them, slamming her fist on the cold metallic surface, screaming out a curse. Her eyes flicked to the stairwell, her jaw setting. God damn it...she hated stairs.

The daggers, small and black, but deadly enough in her hands, flipped occasionally, as if seeking targets on their own, only to be called back. The minute the doors chimed, she was out, tornado-green eyes scanning the room, the corner of her lip twitching as she surveyed the bodies littered where they'd fallen. This close, she'd know…

The sonic boom of a shotgun blast had her moving, the familiar scent shifting her from caution to speed in an instant. No thought for her supposed bodyguard, or who else might be ahead. She knew Simon was, knew he was bleeding, and that was enough. Shouldering past the busted door, nothing registered but the crumpled form on the floor, and the blooming crimson of his chest. Two steps, and then she was sliding across the tile, throwing Cotter’s limp body aside, kneeling over Simon and barely able to form the words she needed between hiccuping sobs that built and burst before she could register them.

“No...nonononono… no bleeding. Stop… back… this isn't… please… please… Simon, I love you you can't… hold on, baby… please… don't leave me. You can't… back… back… stay… please…”

Calloway was startled as the redhead tore past him, his shotgun brought up to bear on the back of her head. Every moment since he’d arrived had built to this moment. All it took was one, simple squeeze of the trigger and Smitty would be avenged...

Her head bent over his, foreheads pressed together, her hands against his chest and outlined in crimson as she fought to keep him alive, fought to send enough blood back through his veins to keep shock at bay, fought knowing that a similar injury had almost defeated her once, and redoubled her efforts, her litany never faltering even as her tears fell and splashed across his cheeks.

Calloway blinked, staring down at her as those defenses broke. A moment of clarity overtook him, shaking him to his core. This was not who he was. This was not what he was. How had he gotten so low that he was willing to kill a grieving woman in cold blood? How far had he allowed himself to be pushed by his thirst for vengeance? The weapon lowered slowly, shame and pity on his face. His eyes lowered as he turned back toward the stairs, the door opening. He and Paige locked eyes for a beat, the woman reading him instantly. He was no threat. Not anymore.

Calloway moved toward the stairwell, but Paige stopped him in his tracks with what remained of her severed arm. Her eyes stern, she opened her hand, demanding his weapon. Calloway nodded and handed it over, taking one last glance over his shoulder at Faras and Toews. With that, Calloway moved down the stairs, and out of their lives.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
They'd gotten Simon to a healer, Tahlia fighting and pleading the whole way to keep him alive. The ancient creature had done what they could...now all they could do was wait. Settled in the back room, Simon lay on a bed Tahlia suspected might be the owners own, bandaged and breathing shallowly. Bunches of herbs hung from the ceiling, jars lined the walls...if it hadn't been for the absence of blood, she might have felt like she was back in Louis' lab at home. It was familiar enough to be soothing, although she'd refused to leave his side, even as the healer worked, exhausting every ability she possessed to give him the best possible chance. Now she sat half crumpled on the floor, one hand wrapped around his wrist, her head pillowed on her arms, half-asleep and left with nothing to do but wait.

Paige had gone on her own business, smoothing things over with The Watch. God knew what she was telling them, but she assured them there would be no issues for the pair. At least...not over Vicelli. Rhydin. Had to love it.

Simon lay there, his chest rising and falling evenly with every calm breath, completely dead to the world. His battered face beginning the advanced healing process already. She would hear his breath catch suddenly, blue eyes popping open, as a moment of panic set in. Those eyes darted around, the pain in his chest suddenly alive.

Slowly, he relaxed as his gaze landed on Tahlia, his breathing returning to normal. The pain was still there, but the panic was gone. With a wince, he rested his head on the pillow.

Her eyes snapped open an instant later, and she sat up, her fingers tightening around his wrist as she struggled to get to her feet without letting go. "Shhh...it's..." it wasn't ok, not by any definition, but he was alive. Settling on the edge of the bed as she willed the pins and needles to go away, she reached up to run her fingers along his jaw. "Hey, killer...you're awake...the...I don't think I caught his name..." and she'd probably have to apologize some, for her frantic behavior...she may have threatened bodily harm if anything happened to him..."said he wasn't sure when you'd come to...Paige left, but she'll be back...I...I couldn't."

Simon went to speak, but it came out first in a wheeze. He winced and let out a breathy grunt. Talking wasn't the easiest, but he would push on. "You...you okay?" He asked her.

"Other than bruising from being handcuffed to a train pole...and worried sick about you...I'm ok." The wheeze made her heart twist in her chest, and she clung a little tighter to his arm as if she could will it better. "We got there, and there was this...thunderous bang...and you..." She couldn't continue, her free hand pressing to her lips as tears sparkled along her lashes.

At the mention of the train, a shameful look came over his face. Then she went on and he nodded. "Cotter..." His lips tightened in a grimace. "But Calloway-" He grunted as a wave of pain came over him. "He took him down..."

"Which may be the only reason he's still breathing..." She hadn't noticed the Fed when she'd gotten to the room, no more than she'd noticed the furniture, or the two other bodies in the room. "He wasn't there when I looked around, but Paige had his gun. All I could think about was you..."

He peered up at Tahlia...he knew he'd hurt her...but he had meant well. He didn't want her death on his hands. That the whole thing had gone so smoothly...until it didn't...was a minor miracle. "I'm sorry." He whispered. "I did...what I thought was right."

"I know...Simon...I know...but you almost died because I wasn't there..." She didn't even bother hiding the tears, or the way her voice cracked, raw from crying. "How could you...how could you say that, and then think I wouldn't move mountains to get to you...?"

"Because..." He shifted his body, wincing again. "You could have been killed too...and...and I...I couldn't live with that. I tried to protect you."

"You did...I know...but..." She knew he was in no shape for her to curl against his chest, so she settled for lacing her fingers with his. "I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you...if you'd been killed..." She still had the pill in her pocket - no idea what to do with it, now...

He legitimately didn't know what to say. A rarity to a man with the gift of BSing everyone. He just didn't have the strength for it. Instead, he just squeezed her hand tightly, watching her, memorizing her in that moment.

"You're not allowed to die on me...not now, not ever. Okay?" Sniffing softly, she leaned over and kissed him, her lips lingering against his...not hard, her tongue remained firmly in her own mouth...but she needed this. "Simon?"

His free hand moved up, pushing into her hair, holding her in that melting, warm kiss. His forehead rested to her's after, keeping close. "Yeah?" He whispered.

"Say it again." Her lips curved against his, her free hand stroking along his jaw, his cheek, her lashes tickling his nose. She tried to lean against him as little as possible

He froze there, his entire being tensing up. Something inside went into panic mode, though he managed to suppress it. "I..." a sigh left him. "I'm no good for you..." he shook his head. "I'm a fuck up. I don't know what I'm doin'...where I'm goin'...Hell, I'm not even sure who I am..."

"You're not." She couldn't argue. Wouldn't. They were awful for each other. Two addicts looking for a fix. She knew it. She didn't care. "I don't either. All I know is...well, you know." She rubbed her cheek against his, and pulled back, just enough to see his face, and let him see hers. "You...killer...you're the first man I haven't been with because of what you could give me...what you could do...please...I think ..." She sighed, and shook her head. "I need to know I didn't imagine it..."

"Everything I touch turns to shit. Everyone I care about...dies or gets maimed." He said weakly. "If you were smart...you would run. Run far away and keep running before I ruin you, too."

"No-one said I was smart. Fuck. Simon. I don't care. Ruin me." She was crying again, her tears splashing against his lips. "I can't...please...I don't think anyone ever has...and the last time..." She flinched, slightly, her right shoulder rising to hide the brand behind her ear. "...please?"

He was in agony...not physically, but deep down inside. If he said those words now, it made it real. He couldn't take them back. Simon was utterly convinced that it could only end in more pain. End with her dead, because that was his curse. The ones he loved died, but he...he "got" to live on and carry those wounds, worse than any scar adorning his body. Every death weighing him down.

"Tahlia..."he muttered, shame in his eyes.

She sat back, wiping at her cheeks. "Yeah?" She couldn't meet his eyes, she couldn't bear to see what she was certain was pity...not from him. Shoulders shaking, her breath hitched in her chest and she shook her head softly. She wasn't meant to be loved...hadn't her siblings said? She'd imagined it...had to have...

"I love you." He finally said, eyes turning up to her, but there was no joy in them. "And you should be afraid of that. Go. Go before it's too late."

"I love you too, ass...I'm not...Simon..." She shook her head. "I'm not leaving you. You're hurt, for one...someone needs to keep you from doing anything stupid."

His body slumped, exhausted. Why wouldn't she listen to him? Didn't she realize what an albatross he was? How could she NOT get it that he wasn't worth the trouble?

Because he was. She would gladly have taken the bullet for him. Leaning forward, she kissed him again, a tiny smile flashing across her lips. He'd said it. "you don't scare me..."

His eyes slid shut. "Then you're an idiot." Those blues opened up again turning to her...but his hand clung tight to her's.. His words might have been telling her to go...but that grip told a completely different story.

"Probably. But you keep rescuing me..." She squeezed his hand, her lips lingering against his. "some one night stand..." She held tight, a breathless little laugh wafting over his lips

He couldn't help the little laugh that left his lips then. "Like I said..." a corner of his mouth upturned. "Complete fuck up."

"wouldn't have it any other way..." she kissed that upturned corner. "Soon as he says you can move...you're coming home with me so I can keep an eye on you..."

His eyes slid shut and he nodded. "Think...think I'm gonna take a little nap...."

He looked up at her one last time. "You'll be here when I wake up?"

"Of course." She slid back, settling into the same spot on the floor, her hand still linked tightly with his. "Right here."