Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Friday October 1, morning

“Hi, welcome!” You call over your shoulder in a hurried frenzy. “I’ll be right with you.”

If there’s an answer, you can’t hear it over the cacophony of voices that are already swelling in the coffee shop. The Last Drip is always busy in the mornings because of its proximity to Zaun Community College, which is practically across the street. The moment you open at 6am, there are professors and students swarming through the doors for their morning buzz before a long day of classes.

You finish pouring steamed milk into a cup, and when you turn to face the counter you recognize your manager brooding behind it. “Your usual?”

“Better make it a quad,” Sevika grunts. “When it’s ready, bring it up to my office.”

She doesn’t wait for an answer, but strides towards the glass side door glaring at her phone. People automatically shuffle out of the way as she storms past. 

Over the past two years you've learned that Sevika has a very narrow range of emotions in the morning: “Talk to me and you die” and “You better tell me what's going on right now or someone's gonna die”. The differences between the two are nuanced, but you've studied each mood carefully and understand how to recognize which one is which, so the two of you tend to get along just fine. 

As you make your move to the espresso machine, a new hire, Issa, catches your eye from the back bar. She’s only half invested in prepping your cups.

“How do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Not piss her off! She jumps down my throat if I even breathe her direction.”

“She’s a veteran of this place Issa,” Replies Connor in his bored Texas drawl. “She knows Sevika better than anyone, which is why you should be grateful that she's the shift lead and you're not. Hi y’all! What can I get ya today?”

You grab a fresh shot glass as he swaggers to the register to take an order, and Issa mutters in Spanish under her breath.

You pull a quad shot espresso, steam a bit of almond milk, and place a dab of foam on top.

"Connor, you've got bar. Issa, register."

"Yes boss," Connor salutes as they switch.

You push your way through the side door, moving a rope to climb the set of creaky stairs that takes you above the bathrooms. At the top is a narrow corridor, and you carefully make your way to Sevika’s office at the end of the hall. Through the open door you can see her waving her hand emphatically at whoever’s on the other end of the line.

“Silco wants those reports by Monday, no excuses! He’s got more than just your sorry ass on his plate right now with midterms around the corner, and the reno across town.”

You place the glass in the middle of her desk, your ears perking up at the mention of Silco. He owns The Last Drip, among many other shops in town, and is head of the board for ZCC.

You’ve only seen him once. Or rather seen a picture of him once, on the inside of a college pamphlet that had been left on one of the shop tables during orientation week.

He was unquestionably handsome. Though his right, icy blue eye had held a spark of disdain as it stared up from the glossy page, as if he was suffering the indignity of having his picture taken. His left eye had been hidden by an eye patch, scars spidering from behind it into a salt and pepper hairline. A few scars also puckered the corner of his thin lips, giving him the impression of a perpetual sneer.  

The image had been more than enough to intrigue you, but there were plenty of stories that added to the mystery of his allure.

Like how he got his money by insider trading and bribed his way to the top of the board (Possible, but not likely).

That he'd blackmailed the president of ZCC to get his job (which wouldn't surprise you since the man had been suspected of siphoning funds from the college for years).

That he made a deal with Rumplestiltskin for a child in exchange for his eye (Conner’s helpful contribution to the discussion).

Or (and this one is your personal favorite) that he was a retired criminal mastermind turned aspiring academic after a botched heist destroyed his eye and gained him the responsibility of an orphaned, mentally unstable child.

They all seemed a little far fetched, but you enjoyed the pointless speculation.

You're turning to leave the office when Sevika ends her conversation and snaps to get your attention.

“I’ve got another order for you, and I need it sent over to the college asap.”

"Got it."

"And it has to be you, understand? The last thing I need is for Connor to make a smart ass comment to Smeech, or for a pissy board member to scare Issa into a nervous breakdown."

She pauses to throw back the quad, and it’s gone in less than three seconds. She shakes the empty glass at you and you take it.

"I’ll text you a picture of the list.”

She turns to her computer, and you take it as your dismissal. As you make your way back down the stairs you feel your phone buzz, and take it out of your apron to take a quick look. The order’s complicated, but you recognize all of the names and connect them to the faces you’d seen in the pamphlet that had featured Silco. There are four black coffees with a laundry list of cream and sugar requirements and a small decaf soy latte. The decaf is italicized along with a note (“I made Finn confirm twice that he wanted it decaf, and he swears he does, so don’t let the little shit give you any trouble about it”). 

Then there’s the last two drinks: “The largest blended extra sweet caramel latte you can make with lots of whipped cream and caramel drizzle”, and a cappuccino with oat milk marked “FOR THE BOSS SO MAKE IT GOOD”.

You feel a surge of nervous anticipation.

It looks like after two years, you’re finally going to meet your boss Silco.

Zaun is beautiful in the fall.

The city rests on the outskirts of the sprawling county of Piltover, and retains the feeling of a small but bustling college town. The trees are ancient and gnarled, the shops are mostly family owned, and the houses are most definitely haunted by Victorian ghosts. You love how the people really get into the spirit of the season. As soon as it hits October 1st, the townspeople begin decorating their homes for Halloween. Much unlike those living in the high rises of Piltover proper, which you can just see shooting up into the clouded sky a couple of miles away.

Autumn is a big season for Zaunites. Over the summer a field of pumpkins had been growing, as well as several acres of corn, for the purpose of a fall festival and haunted maze. The vacant lot next door to the field had been steadily filling with questionable looking carnival rides and tents for the last month and a half, building anticipation.

You can just see the tip top of the carnival rides as you hurry towards campus juggling a to-go box of coffee, a drink carrier, and a bag full of cream and sugars.

Your breath comes out in a soft, puffing cloud as you smile.

You love everything about fall. You swear the air feels different: crisper and cooler, while the colors of the leaves turn warm and drop to the cracked pavement like gently falling stars. There's nothing you like better than cuddling up in your living room with comfy clothes, a warm drink in your hand, cinnamon scented candles burning on the hearth, and a steady diet of campy Halloween films. 

You release a contented sigh and raise your head as you stroll onto campus, marveling at the changes that have been made in the last ten years. Modern buildings glisten above the damp, ancient classrooms you studied in when you went to ZCC.

Out with the old, in with the new.

After graduating you thought you’d move away and do exciting things in different parts of the country. Turns out the higher education that took you 6 years to achieve and mountains of debt to obtain only got you so far as Piltover, and the shiny career you pursued for the next three was so soul-sucking that you finally had to quit.

Which is when you stumbled into your old college fallback while you tried to regroup.

“Life’s a hell of a thing,” Sevika had grunted during your interview. “I always thought I’d be a middleweight boxer, and look at me now.”

You certainly never thought you’d be in your late twenties and working at a coffee shop. You’d kind of assumed that you’d have a set career, a clear purpose, and independence by this point in your life.

You’re almost grateful when a stray hair blows into your eye, and pulls your mind away from that all too uncomfortable line of thoughts. 

You wipe your face and turn your attention instead to your quest across the sprawling campus. As your feet take you down familiar paths, you have to dodge students crowding narrow and uneven walkways. There’s construction fencing everywhere, and a strange collection of buildings pressing up against each other like mismatched books on a library shelf. On your left is a modern two story cafeteria which is rimmed by the squat, moss adorned art classrooms. To your right, square bricked math buildings have been encroached upon a pristine new STEM facility, complete with an observatory on the roof (reminiscent of a shining metal hat).

But by this point you've reached the older quadrant of ZCC, which is located on the slight rise of a hill. To take your mind off your burning calves, you turn your attention to the crows haunting the trees above you. They’re croaking and keeping a sharp eye on the trashcans and quick-stops, undoubtedly hoping for handouts. You pause to pull a broken pastry from your pocket and crumble it beneath a particularly murderous looking tree. You have the infinite satisfaction of watching one of the braver birds descend onto your offering as soon as you pass on.

Some people say crows are omens, though good or bad nobody seemed to be able to agree. You like the idea that they’re harbingers of change. 

You could really use some of that right now. Life certainly looks as if it's going nowhere, and fast.

Making it to the sleek new admin building on time is your current, short term plan, and it sits at the very top of the largest hill like a perpetually shining lighthouse. You’re huffing and puffing by the time you make it up the final steps, and you pull up short as the door slides open and you’re assaulted by the chaos of screaming guitars and pounding drums. 

“Hi! Welcome to the administration building!” A young voice shouts over the noise.

You blink as you take in the girl with her Doc Martens kicked up on top of the front desk. She’s about seventeen years old, her head bobbing along to the music as she considers a canvas on her lap. She's dressed like a pirate, her costume consisting of a rather expensive looking coat, striped pants, and a plastic eyepatch, though it’s been pushed up onto her forehead. There’s even a tricorn hat sitting atop a shock of braided blue hair, with a row of paint brushes sticking up next to the feather. 

“That’s my caramel blended, right?”

“If you’re part of the order for Silco, then yes.”

“Did you make it extra sweet?”

“Absolutely.”

“Right on.” She drops her feet with a heavy thud, and sets the canvas against the computer monitor. You release an involuntary laugh when she vaults over the counter instead of walking around it, and snatches the drink from you with a grin.

“Dad’s in a meeting right now so you can stay down here with me while you wait. Say, you look like you have artistic vision, and I need advice on a piece I’m doing for my first show. Come here!”

She grabs your arm and drags you behind the desk.

“Okay, so what do you think? Too childish? Too cliche? This thing’s been driving me crazy all morning!” 

An involuntary wow escapes you as you take in the canvas. It looks as though she’s taken a replicated painting and turned it into a piece of street art.

There’s bold, exaggerated splashes of color and spray painted words overlaid on the old stagnant landscape. What looks like magazine cut outs of various mountains have been pasted in the background, along with an assortment of zoo animals (Monkeys appear to be a favorite). There also seems to be some kind of free form poetry written in the upper right-hand corner.

“This is really cool.”

She takes a break from her loud slurping to squint at the piece. “You think so? What about this over here? You don’t think the imagery is too juvenile?”

“No, I think it's great."

"Are you sure? Because there's just something about it that's driving me nuts, and I can't put my finger on why!”

She’s practically bouncing on the balls of her feet as you give it a good once over, holding back a smile. 

Her enthusiasm is endearing. It makes you remember how much you used to love painting, and you wonder why you stopped creating art in the first place.

Soul sucking job, three years a part of the walking dead.

Oh yeah, reality. 

After a moment of consideration you point to one of the corners. “I think the imagery’s fine, but the reds and greens you used in this area are too similar in tone. It feels a lot like Christmas.”

"Okay... yeah, I see what you're saying. Hold this.”

She plops her drink back in the carrier and whips out a palette filled with messy glops of color. She pulls a paintbrush out of her hat and immediately dips into a traffic cone orange.

“That’s good. So now I just need a dab of yellow ochre here… some titanium white right there… and maybe a little more fuschia here…” 

She bobs to the music as her brush works. Eventually she seems to forget you’re there, and you quietly watch her place her strokes with absolute confidence and precision. Then suddenly she frowns, mutters something under her breath, and swipes a bright swath of fuschia over an entirely different portion of the painting.

“There,” She steps back and nods decisively. “I don’t know how you did it toots, but you were right. There just weren’t nearly enough flowers over there.”

You don’t see any flowers, and you’re still getting over the shock of watching her paint over that corner like it cost her nothing, but you nod anyway.

Whatever she did, it somehow looks infinitely better.

“Now all I have to do is hit it with some spray paint detailing, sign it, et voila ! My pièce de résistance is complete!” 

She throws an arm around your shoulders as you both admire the piece.

“It's wonderful. Where'd you get the idea for this one?”

“It started out as an assignment from my therapist when I was thirteen. I honestly b-s’d the whole thing when I turned it in, pretended the original picture represented the old me and my depression yata yata yata,” She rolls her eyes. “Of course she ate it up. But after a while I started using it as a tester for all my new ideas, and it kind of turned into its own animal.”

“Do you have any other finished pieces for your show?”

Her eyes light up. “Yeah. You wanna see ‘em?”

“Definitely.”

She grins and pulls out her phone. “A few are still a work in progress, but most of them are finis.”

You set everything down on the counter as she hands you her phone. She starts scooping the whipped cream off the top of her drink with her straw as you scroll through her camera roll.

“They’re all so different.” You swipe from a 6 foot canvas covered in spray paint to a charcoal portrait. It’s fairly illustrative, but you can tell it’s supposed to be her. Her hands are covering her eyes, and ghostly faces float faintly in the background.

“What was the inspiration for this one?”

“At 3:21am I think a lot of thoughts.”

“Hm.”

You look at the other pieces, and start to notice a pattern running through them. Haunting images, bold pops of color, strong emotions. Several of them are named different variations of “thinking lots of thoughts”, though one’s colorfully notated as “My effing brain at 4:06 for no effing reason”, which is just a crudely drawn sketch of two boys sitting on a couch, surrounded by litter. One of them has on a pair of swim goggles and the other has hair like yu-gi-oh, but both have vibrant gel pen x’s scratched where their eyes should be, and large toothy grins.

It looks like the pencil marks have been pressed so deep into the page, it ripped paper in a few places.

It makes you wonder what, exactly, this girl has gone through in her short life. 

You hand her phone back with a strange tightness in your chest. “They’re stunning.”

“You really think so?”

“Yes.”

“Well I guess you were right after all, Dad,” Suddenly the music shuts off. “She thinks they’re great too!”

“No need to sound so surprised. You know I would never lie to you.”

When you turn to face the owner of the silken voice, you’re thrown for a loop. 

Silco is standing only a few feet behind you, hands folded neatly behind his back. He's wearing a dark, expensive looking suit and an unreadable expression.

You blush and hurriedly push your stray, frizzy hairs behind your ear, though it probably doesn't matter. You get the distinct impression he’s been standing behind you for quite some time.

“You seem to have an eye for art,” He says.

You feel skewered by his gaze.

“Um yes, I um... I used to paint and draw when I was her age. But I mostly just admire it now. Your daughter is an excellent artist.”

“She is, isn’t she?”

He strolls forward, bringing with him the scent of cloves and pine. He’s taller than you imagined, about five foot ten. You feel every molecule in your body tingle as he leans forward to get a closer look at her painting.

After a moment of careful inspection, he nods slowly. “It’s perfect.”

The girl is positively beaming.

“But it’s after seven, Jinx. Shouldn’t you be heading to class?”

“Oh, right!” 

She throws everything on the desk into her purse, and shoves the palette into a giant plastic bag before pushing the painting into his hand. “Put this in the office to dry, will you pops? And thanks again for your help, uh-”

You give her your name.

She repeats it in a sing-song voice. “This was fun! You should definitely come over to my studio sometime! We can drink hot chocolate, watch Halloween movies, cry about our childhood traumas and paint our feelings. Costumes are required.”

“Sounds like a good time to me.”

“Yay! I’ll text you soon so we can nail down all the deets,” She plants a quick peck on her father’s cheek, then runs for the door. “Laters!”

You don’t even have time to remind her that she doesn’t have your number before she's out the door in a flash of blue hair.

The silence that swells in her wake is almost deafening, and you’re suddenly very aware that not only are you alone with your boss, but you are very, very late with his coffee. 

You face him to launch into your apology. 

“I’m so sorry I’m late sir. Jinx told me to wait downstairs, then I let myself get distracted by her painting and I guess I just lost track of time...”

He raises a hand, and your words catch in your throat.

“You’re not late. The meeting went over time, as they tend to do. We've only just gone on break."

"Oh, okay. Well I’d be happy to take these upstairs for you now. If you’d like.”

He nods and spreads his free hand towards the elevator. It's completely mirrored, and you spend the entire ride to the top floor trying not to stare at his jawline as he leans against the back wall, eye closed and frown firmly in place.

You bite your lip.

He really is more handsome in person.

When you reach the top floor you fight to maintain a cool expression before he opens his eye and leads you towards a room walled in by opaque glass. He holds the door open for you, and you dip your head to avoid meeting his eye. Five people immediately turn your direction.

“There you are, old man. I was beginning to wonder if you’d gotten lost.”

This rather inappropriate comment comes from Finn, the youngest board member currently lounging at the head of the table. He looks like he’s dressed for a club, not a business meeting, with gaudy gold rings dotting his fingers and diamond encrusted chains hanging around his neck.

Silco ignores him as he points you to a sideboard, where you start to set everything out in order. You're acutely aware of all his movements as he heads to the back of the room to deposit the painting.

“What took you so long girl?” An older woman with dyed orange hair demands. “Where’s the cream and sugar?”

“I’ve brought a variety of milks and an assortment of sugars. I believe you specified you wanted two stevia and nonfat, Ms. Renni.”

She sniffs.

After setting everything out you hand Silco his cappuccino, which he takes silently, and you take the time to walk over to Finn to hand him his latte.

He’s quick to take a sip, and you resist the strong urge to roll your eyes when his face screws up in disgust.

“What the hell is this?”

“A decaf soy latte.” 

“I know what a soy latte tastes like, and this is not it.”

“I’m sorry, but I know for a fact that it’s a decaf soy latte because I made it myself.”

“Decaf? No wonder it tastes like shit. I didn’t ask for decaf.”

His condescending tone makes you want to scream, but you work in customer service, and killing people with kindness is a skill you’ve perfected over these last several years. You paste on a polite smile, and make sure you sound at least mildly apologetic.

“I’m so sorry for the misunderstanding. Sevika was sure you’d asked specifically for decaf, but I’ll let her know she was mistaken. I’m sure she’ll be happy to leave the office to remake it. She might even deliver the order in person, to make sure it was remade to your satisfaction.”

He visibly pales. “No, no it’s fine.”

“Are you sure? I can text her right now, I know she won’t mind…”

You feel a sense of smug satisfaction at the panic that fills his eyes as you pull out your phone. 

“Stop! Honestly girl, it’s not a big deal. I’ll drink it. But next time, make sure there’s a note somewhere to remind people that I don’t do decaf.”

“Of course Finn, I’d be happy to.”

A small smile escapes you as you turn away. It freezes on your face when you realize Silco’s watching you from across the room. After a few painful seconds being pinned under his gaze, you note that a smile is tugging at the corner of his lips.

Your shoulders relax, and you offer him one fleeting grin before you turn your attention back to the task at hand.

It takes you several minutes to prepare the other board members' coffee orders, and you're careful to refer to them all by name. If there’s one thing you’ve learned it's that people like to feel important, and important people like to feel known. 

When you've handed out the last cup, you sneak a peek at your phone. You have one missed call and three texts from Sevika.

“Did you find the admin building?”

“What the hell happened to you? Did you get sucked into Oz?”

“If you don’t get back here in the next ten minutes I might actually kill these two, and their blood will be on your hands.”

She sent that one five minutes ago.

You type out a hasty reply. 

“Sorry, I got caught up. The meeting went long but I’m delivering the drinks now. I'll text when I'm on my way back.”

“Are you tired of our company already?” Silco asks from over your shoulder.

It's unsettling, how quietly he walks.

“Well they do call these board rooms for a reason.” 

It’s a bad joke, but he releases a snort of air through his nose, which is as good as a laugh. It gives you a giddy sense of accomplishment. 

You wiggle your phone. “It’s actually just Sevika. She’s wondering what's taking me so long. I should definitely get back before she kills the rest of the team.”

“That sounds wise.”

You take a few steps backward. “Good-bye sir. And again, I’m very sorry for the wait.”

“Consider it forgotten.”

"Alright, I will."

This reply seems to mildly amuse him.

You head out the door, feeling on top of the world.

You check your notifications on your way down the hall.

“get-jinxed is now following you on Instagram”

“get-jinxed has liked your photo”

“get-jinxed has liked your photo”

“get-jinxed has commented on your photo: @Crocs.n.Jorts omg I’m so jealous!! I’ve always wanted a cat but…”

The account is private, but the profile picture is a vague blur of a human being with blue hair, which can't be a coincidence. 

You send her a follow request.

That girl doesn’t waste any time. 

You marvel at the morning you’ve had so far. It's not like anything exceptional happened really, but it certainly was interesting, and a nice change from the ordinary.

You smile to yourself as you emerge into the dappled sunshine, then whistle a jaunty tune as you begin your journey back to The Last Drip.

Chapter Text

Friday October 1, Evening.

“You understand why, Harry? Once I make my move, the queen will take me. Then you’re free to check the king. ”

You grab another handful of popcorn as the music intensifies. The TV pans to a tiny, horrified Daniel Radcliff in an over-sized plaid shirt that looks suspiciously like the one you’re currently wearing.

“No. Ron, no!”

A kernel drops from your hand onto the ball of cat on your lap. You only briefly consider tossing it in the trash before you toss it into your mouth instead.

“What is it?”  

“He’s going to sacrifice himself!” You mumble. 

“No you can’t! There must be another way!”

You feel a buzz in your pocket, and your heart drops when you see a text from Sevika.

“Hey I need a favor.”

You check the time. The Last Drip closes at 9, which was almost an hour ago. You pause the movie. You don’t have to be a wizard to know what’s coming next. 

“What’s up?”

The answer is immediate. “I need you to go back to the shop and count the drawer. Terry had to split early. I was planning on doing it myself but I’m stuck in a zoom meeting.”

You heave a sigh. You knew you should have gone to bed when you were tired, like any other rational adult. Instead you put on a movie, and now you have to leave the house at 10pm to go do math. 

“Sure, I’m on it.”

Despite your confident reply, it still takes you several minutes to gather up the energy to move. 

“Sorry Jorts, I’ve gotta go," You say at last.

The calico mews pathetically as you remove her from your lap to drag yourself off the sofa. “Yeah, I know. It should only take an hour, then I’ll be back and we can both go to bed.”

The thought doesn’t seem to encourage either of you to have a better attitude.

You debate whether or not you should get out of your pajamas as you head to your bedroom. Your sleepwear errs on the side of slouchy ho, but you figure nobody will be there since it's after hours so it doesn’t really matter. After a moment’s consideration, you at least decide to put on a bra.

You have to maintain some standards after all.

Your sister’s cat meows from inside the closet, and you have to wrestle your Birkenstocks from her white socked grip.

“We’ve talked about this Crocs. Please chew on Allie’s shoes for a change. Hers are cheaper.”

When you succeed in extricating them, she bats at your hand with a wild look in her eye. 

She’s probably just lashing out because your sister’s been out of town for work for a week, and you refuse to share your yogurt with her.

Your pocket buzzes.

“Thanks. I owe you one.”

“Technically you owe me several,” You mutter as you grab your keys and head out the door.

This isn’t the first emergency text you’ve gotten from Sevika, and you doubt it’ll be the last.

How Sevika became the manager of The Last Drip, you'll never know. All you know is that it doesn't really seem to be her forte.

It’s almost a fifteen minute drive to The Last Drip, and the traffic is horrendous. You’d forgotten that Downtown Zaun has an impressive nightlife, and ironically, you have Silco to thank for it. Not only does he own The Last Drip, but he also owns The Last Drop, a bar located just down the street. It’s the place to be on any given night, especially on a Friday. You have to drive around the block several times to confirm that there are no parking spots within a half mile radius of the shop, and eventually you give up and park in a nearby neighborhood. It takes you almost ten minutes to walk to the shop from there.

College kids and obvious out of towners dressed in clubbing gear mill about the damp sidewalk, and you do your best to avoid all eye contact. You know from unfortunate first hand experience that drunken college boys usually consider it a sign of aggression - or an invitation to offer up a dirty pick-up line, which is more likely considering your current outfit.

It starts to rain when you’re still a block away, forcing you into an awkward shuffling jog. You’re soaked by the time you finally push your way into the dark building, but you're grateful the shop is at least warm. After flipping on a few lights, you dump your things in a heap on the counter and immediately head to the cupboard for towels. You drape your flannel over the back of a chair and do your best to wipe off your arms and neck. You can’t do much about your hair situation except throw it up into a damp bun. 

When you’re satisfied you’re as dry as you can possibly be, you gather the tools you’ll need to make a pour over. 

Yes, you know you have work in the morning, and drinking caffeine after 6pm always keeps you up until well after 4am. Yes, you know you’ll probably (definitely) regret it. But at this point you really don’t care. That’s tomorrow you’s problem. Tonight you knows you aren’t going to mentally survive the next hour without it.

The electric kettle only takes a few minutes to boil, and you wet the filter before dosing out a generous amount of beans into the drip grinder. As you hit the motor, flecks of aromatic coffee grounds billow into the air. 

You breathe in deeply and feel your shoulders relax.

See? This isn’t so bad.

Making pour overs is a comfortable and familiar ritual. Eddies of scented steam begin to release into the air as you pour the water. Thirty seconds later you pour a second round and give the grinds a few gentle swirls. While you wait for the final round to filter through, you connect with the sound system and put on an old jazz playlist knowing that it’s probably the most upbeat music you can handle while still managing to do math.

As you head to the stockroom a familiar song starts to play, and you sing along as you search for your personal mug in the cupboards. It looks like a pumpkin patch, with a large half moon and bats hanging in a purple sky. A glow-in-the-dark ghost poses as the handle.

It’s the only mug you’ll use for the entire month of October, for obvious reasons.

Whistling takes the place of lyrics when Louis Armstrong begins a trumpet solo, and you’re really tearing it up when you turn the corner. You and the whistling come to an abrupt halt when you see a man bending over your coffee pot, hands in his pockets.

“Wha - hey! Get out!”

The man straightens, but when he turns towards you, you suck in a sharp breath. 

Silco?

“I didn’t mean to startle you.”

A strangled “Oh!” is all you can manage for the moment.

Silco’s icy blue eye darts up and down your body in an efficient examination that leaves you feeling like maybe wearing pajamas to your place of employment was a bad idea after all. Or possibly that you should feel embarrassed about the fact that you’re wearing Bob Ross booty shorts in front of your boss. 

In truth you aren’t thinking about that at all. Or the state of his sleeves, which have been rolled up above his forearms (though you have spared them an appreciative glance).

No, it’s his eye.

The eyepatch is gone, and in its place is a lidless black marble with a burning orange iris. The scars seem darker, somehow, especially closest to his eye, constantly drawing your attention back to the glowing epicenter. 

You can’t tell at first if it’s real or not, but then it shifts upward to glance at something above your head.

“Are you planning on bludgeoning me with that cup?”

You hastily lower your hand and clutch the mug to your chest, heart thumping wildly. “Sorry! I didn’t expect- I mean, I thought I’d be alone or I wouldn’t have….” 

You taper off, your face suddenly hot. 

It’s strange to see his right eye flash with amusement while the other maintains its burning glare. “Or you wouldn’t have…?”

You swallow hard and try to find your focus. 

It’s just an eye, get over it!

“Uh, had the music up so loud. Or dressed like I was going to a Hooters themed slumber party.”

He barks out a laugh, and the sound hits your chest like a shock wave. A smirk tilts up the corner of his lips as he leans against the counter.

It’s a jarringly casual move for such an imposing man.

“I wasn’t planning on coming, however my office at The Last Drop was a little more… lively than usual. So I walked over to finish my work in peace and quiet.”

“I’m so sorry, if I’d known-”

He cuts you off with a wave of his hand. “No more apologies, please. Anyway, it wasn’t your music that brought me down here.”

It takes you a moment to figure out what he’s referring to. “Oh! Would you like some coffee?”

“Love some.”

“Of course! I’ll go get you a cup.”

His amusement is barely concealed, and you manage to maintain your composure until you get to the back. You then bury your face in your hands and let loose with a silent barrage of mild expletives. It only takes a few moments of this to work off the initial surge of adrenaline at his unexpected appearance.

Why does it feel so hot back here?

You fan your face and take a quick look in the smudged mirror hanging next to the stock shelves. At least you don’t look nearly as bedraggled as you feel. I mean you’re no Kiera Knightly meets Matthew MacFadyen for a proposal in the rain, but hey, at least you put on a bra.

Thank God you’re not a total idiot.

After attempting to do something better with your hair you reemerge with a second mug, and all the random scraps of dignity you managed to salvage.

“You’re working late,” You say brightly.

“I have a lot to manage, and the meeting this morning cut into my usual office hours.” He scrubs a hand across his face and heaves a heavy sigh.

You pour his coffee first.

“I’ve been working here for two years, and I had no idea you had an office in the building.”

“I don’t, at least not officially. My office at The Last Drop is much more to my taste. This one has its uses, like on the rare occasions I need to work late without distractions.”

“Not to mention it has quick access to caffeine!”

“Yes, that too.”

Your fingers brush briefly as he takes the mug, and your arm buzzes as you prepare another pour over. You actually have to fight the urge to flex your hand to get rid of the feeling.

“Would you like any oat milk in yours?" You ask as you grind another dose of beans. "I could steam some up real quick.”

“That depends on how good it is.”

“Well in that case, you won’t need it. I don’t want to brag or anything, but I’ve been told my pour overs are a special kind of magic.”

“High praise indeed.”

He takes a few careful sips.

“Well?”

“It’s perfect.”

“High praise indeed,” You mimic.

His right eyebrow quirks upward.

What the heck was that? 

You hide your embarrassment by becoming extremely invested in setting up the pot for a second cup of coffee. As you toss the first filter into the trash, you notice it hadn't been taken out even though it's half full, and make a mental note to take it out before you leave.

“Sevika didn’t inform me that anyone would be here tonight," He says.

“She texted me about an hour ago," You reply. "She said she needed help closing the drawer because she was in a zoom meeting she couldn’t get out of.”

“Ah." 

Now that you’re marginally more composed, you consider him over the gently steaming pot. He’s still slouching against the counter in that oddly casual way, and his hair is tousled, as if he’s been running his fingers through it repeatedly. A few salt and pepper pieces have dropped forward onto his forehead, and you automatically trace his movements as he pushes back the strands with slender fingers. 

“I shouldn’t keep you from your work,” He says.

“You’re not. I haven't clocked in yet. But I don’t mind the company.”

“I suppose I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Oh! No I didn’t mean-” You're overcome with a sudden flair of embarrassment. Then you notice him barely covering a smile.

You laugh, awkwardly. “I just mean you’re welcome to work down here sir, if you want. I don’t mind if you do. Or if you don’t want to, that’s fine too. I just um... I know that it can get pretty cold upstairs, and Sevika’s always complaining that the wifi’s spotty in her office, especially at night. There’s really good reception in the corner though. I know because the students and faculty are always fighting over the table.”

He’s smirking fully now, though you can’t tell if he’s laughing at you (derogatory) or at you (because your tired rambling makes you cute, quirky and charming).

It’s the last one, obviously.

“I was having difficulty logging on to the admin network earlier.”

“That’s probably because Sevika changed the password. I can give it to you, when you’re ready.” 

“That would be greatly appreciated.”

He sets his cup down gently and leaves the room.

You wait until you've finished your pour over before snatching your still damp flannel off the chair and shoving your arms through the holes. It’s turned icy cold and you release an involuntary gasp, but you’d rather suffer than be without it. At least if anyone walks by the window and sees you alone with your boss, you won’t look like you’re trying to seduce him.

Not that a Bob Ross pajama set from Target is seduction material, but you can never tell. People can have some pretty weird ideas.

After a moment of waving your arms around to warm them, you take the dishes to the sink and clear the counter for counting bills. You flip on a few extra lights, and are on your way back from grabbing the change bag from the safe when Silco re-enters the room.

He has his coat draped over his arm, and is carrying a laptop along with an expensive looking briefcase. He heads for the table nearest the corner to set up his workspace, which is when you notice that his hair has been slicked back into place.

When you bring him his cup, the scent of cloves and pine is much stronger than it was before.

Must be on his coat. Wait, does that say Armani?

“So Sevika changed the admin password.”

“Yeah, let me write it down for you. It’s kind of uh… long. Or I could type it in for you if you’d like.”

“Please.”

He turns the computer, but not far enough. Rather than do the smart thing -- like adjust the computer further so you don't invade his personal space -- you just lean forward and begin typing on the keyboard. You can practically feel the heat radiating from his arm and leg. A bead of sweat starts to break out on your top lip as his gaze burn into the side of your face.

It’s a relief when you finally manage to put in the last digit, and can take a hasty step back, “There you go.”

He reads the rather inappropriate password silently, then nods. “I see.”

“Yeah, I guess one of the ZCC tech students figured out the password and shared it with all his friends, backing up the bandwidth. When Sevika found out, well… I’m sure you can guess how she handled that situation.”

“I recall receiving the memo when she permanently banned the club from meeting in the shop. It was an uncharacteristically detailed report.”

“Probably because I wrote it.”

You’d meant it as a flippant comment, but when he raises his head you read genuine surprise on his face.

A nervous knot forms in the pit of your stomach as you rush to explain. “She typed the email and told me to proofread it to make sure she hadn’t missed any important details. I ended up cutting out most of the main body to streamline the facts. I figured you didn’t need all of the descriptive details of what she thought of their mothers.”

“Now that you mention it, it was rather less colorful than her usual reports.”

His tone is thoughtful, but his eyes are sharp. The orange iris seems to glow with unnatural brightness that makes your stomach feel less anxious and more… 

Fluttery. 

Oh no.

It’s not a feeling you experience often, but it’s enough to raise a warning signal in your head. You take a few more steps backward, hoping they look less hasty and more purposeful as you gesture towards the register. “Okay. Well I should probably leave you alone and, you know… actually do the job I came here to do.”

“Of course. Don’t let me keep you.”

As you hurry away you suppress a groan. 

Please don’t tell me you’re stupid enough to get a crush on your boss.

You remember how well it went for you last time.

Like a ton of bricks.  

Surely you wouldn’t be stupid enough to make the same mistake twice.

It must be the coffee messing with you. 

You hold onto this excuse like a lifeline, and try to distract yourself by getting right down to business. It’s only after you hear the clacking of his fingers on the keyboard that you’re able to focus. Soon you manage to fall into a rhythm, and before you know it you’re signing the deposit bag and checking the time on your phone. 

It’s almost 12:30.

Brilliant. 

By the time you get home, you’ll only have four and a half hours before you have to get up and come back to the shop. Take into account the caffeine high you’ll be riding until 4 am, and you’ll have only about an hour of useful sleep.

You’re not sure if you should be laughing or crying. 

Instead you heave a sigh and shuffle to the back to drop the deposit and lock up the safe. Your movements are clumsy when you dump everything in the sink to wash. Before you have a chance to head across the room to see if Silco’s done with his cup, he startles you by setting it in the soapy water.

The scent of cloves and pine intensifies in the steam, distracting you momentarily as you grab the sponge. “Thank you.”

“I believe I should be thanking you. I didn’t realize the extent of which Sevika has relied on you to run this branch of my business.”

You shrug. “I don’t do that much, really. Just some of the ordering and emailing.”

“Along with personally delivering large orders and coming in after hours.”

“Yeah, I guess that too.”

“You’ve worked here for some time.”

Is that a statement? A question? It almost sounds like he’s talking to himself, but you decide to answer anyway.

“Yep. When you’re around a system long enough it’s not that hard to figure out how things work. Filling in the gaps becomes second nature.”

“Only if you’re paying attention.”

You’re not exactly sure, but you think he might be giving you a compliment. 

You feel a flush of pride rising to your cheeks. “I’m just trying to do my job.”

“Sounds like you’re doing more than your job.”

Once again his proximity is beginning to feel overwhelming, but before you have time to do anything stupid (like try to fill the rapidly expanding silence with pointless babbling), his phone starts ringing from across the room. He moves to answer it after the third ring, and you immediately release the breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

The stupid smile you’ve been fighting makes its way onto your face for a brief moment before you wrestle it back under control. 

Seriously, get a grip. He’s your boss. And he wears Armani!

It’s definitely time for you to go home and at least pretend to get some sleep.

The dishes are finished in a blur, and you make sure all the counters are clean before you check all the trashes, and take out the half full bin. You head to the dumpster, and to your great disappointment it’s still drizzling outside.

You trudge back indoors, feeling awkwardly damp and suddenly aware of how musty you smell. What exactly is the right protocol for saying good-bye to the boss you’ve only known for the sum total of two hours over the course of one day? Not that it really matter. He’s still talking in low tones on the phone as you reline the bin. You settle for a small smile and a wave when he lifts his head.

To your surprise, he lowers the phone from his ear. “Are you parked in the back?”

“No. My car doesn’t have a placard, and the parking meter guy is way too good at his job. I’m parked on the other side of downtown. It’s fine though. There’s still a lot of people around, and I’ve made the walk plenty of times.”

“It’s still raining.” 

“I’ll be fine, really. I’ll just do this.” 

You realize how stupid you must look when you slip your arms out of the flannel to pull it over the top of your head, and your theory is confirmed by the bland expression on his face.

He doesn’t look impressed in the slightest.

He rises. “I’ll drive you to your car.”

“Oh no, you really don’t have to do that…”

“I insist,” He immediately puts the phone to his ear to prove the point. “I’m going to have to call you back.”

He ends the call without waiting for an answer and grabs his coat. Instead of slipping it on himself, he holds it open towards you. You gape at the crimson silk lining.

“I can’t wear that.”

“Why not?”

“Because my shirt’s still damp. And that’s an Armani.”

Would you shut up about the Armani already?

“Yes, and I have plenty more of them at home. Besides, you’ll only be wearing it until we make it to the car, and my driver will be waiting just outside the door.”

Your brain is still trying to process this piece of information as you say. “I don't know. I mean, I won't be in the rain for that long.”

His nostrils flair, and you’re struck by the way he suddenly resembles his portrait in the college pamphlet. It must be the expression he reserves for people he finds particularly annoying. 

“Besides,” You hurry to add. “That cut will do nothing for my girlish figure. Your waist isn’t nearly as snatched as mine.” 

His expression shutters. You’re not sure if he even knows what snatched means until his eyes flicker down towards your waist. 

You should definitely stop talking now.

You pull the flannel closer around your middle with a nervous smile. “Thank you for the offer though.”

“If you’re worried about ruining the silk, it’s much cheaper to dry clean a suit than the seat of a car.”

“Good point. Which is why I’ll take off the flannel when we get there.”

His eyebrows knit together in a scowl, and for a moment you’re afraid he’s going to take back his offer to drive you. Then after a few tense seconds, he pushes his fingers roughly through his hair, mussing it all over again. 

He heaves an exasperated sigh. “You’re as stubborn as Jinx."

Being compared to a teenage girl doesn't feel very good, but it's too late to back down now.

“Very well," He says after a moment of frowning. "Give me a few moments.”

He begins packing up his things as if he was going to leave for the night.

You feel a surge of guilt. “I’m so sorry sir, I didn’t realize I was... I mean I don't want to take you away from your work. I'm fine with walking, really. You don’t have to-”

"Dear God," he snaps, cutting you off as he slams his laptop closed. “If you apologize one more time, I swear I will wrestle you into my coat then toss you into the backseat of the car myself.”

Your stomach is practically in your throat as he turns to face you. There’s a dangerous glint in his eyes, like fire and ice.

"Am I understood?"

Your heart is pounding madly against your ribcage as you nod emphatically. “Yes sir.”

“And don’t call me sir," He hisses.

You swallow hard, nodding harder. “Sor- I mean okay. Yeah, no problem! I will definitely stop doing that, starting right now.”

“Good.” He holds your gaze for an infinite moment before turning away. “The car is in the back.”

“Yep. Cool.”

You have to hurry to keep up with him, and even though the anger is still radiating off him in pulse like waves, he opens every door, including the passenger door to the car. You’re extremely careful not to lean back until you’ve taken off the flannel and balled it into your lap. 

The only conversation exchanged during the drive is when you give his driver directions. The rain is really coming down, and when you point out your car, the man pulls up beside it so you can jump into the driver’s seat without getting too wet.

“Thanks.” 

As you unbuckle it’s clear Silco’s completely prepared to let you leave without another word, but you can’t stand the idea of parting badly. 

Especially when you’re the one who's been difficult.

“Thanks for the ride. You were right, it would have been a miserable walk.”

”You’re welcome.”

You hesitate with your hand on the handle, and bite your lip. “And I know you said no more apologies, but I swear this is my last one.”

You can barely see his face in the shadows. It's mostly just the glowing red of his eye, and it glares at you from the darkness. You press on anyway. 

“I promise I’m usually a very normal, very professional adult who doesn’t argue with her boss or go to work in a matching pajama set. So I’m sorry you had to see that. There, that’s it. Now I’ll get out of your car and you’ll never get another apology out of me again. Even if you deserve one.”

After a long pause, he releases a sound that reminds you suspiciously of a chuckle.

“You know, it’s uncanny how much you remind me of my daughter.”

The second daughter comparison in one night really puts a damper on your mood.

“Will you be alright driving home?”

You snort. “You sound like my dad.”

When the silence stretches you hasten to add, “But yes, I’ll be fine. It’s driving back in the morning I’m worried about. I don’t know who let me think that drinking coffee after 11 was a good idea, but they’re definitely an idiot.”

You laugh.

He doesn’t.

You clear your throat. “Anyway. I should go. Good night, Sir- er, Silco.”

“Good night.”

Chapter Text

Saturday October 2, way too early in the morning

Your hand fumbles awkwardly for the alarm clock when the incessant beeping finally filters through your sleep fogged brain. You're back to sleep before you tap snooze, but not ten seconds later it seems, the alarm is sounding again. There are several confusing moments as you try to find the off button, and when the annoying sound finally shuts off, you wonder when you're ever going to listen to the you who doesn't encourage you to drink coffee after 11pm.

Probably never.

Heaving a sigh, you finally open your eyes and turn towards the clock. 

It reads 6:29.

“Oh crap!” A surge of adrenaline slams into your chest as you lunge for your phone, almost launching the cat across the room. 

“I’m sorry Jorts,” You croak, but the cat’s already hissing off towards the living room. 

You shake the pants out of the pile of clothes you’d thrown together the night before as you dial Sevika's number.

You jam the phone against your shoulder. “Hi Sevika I’m so sorry I have no idea what happened I didn’t hear my alarm go off but I’m getting ready right now I swear I’ll be there in fifteen minutes and-”

“Woah woah woah, relax! It’s alright.” 

You freeze with one foot jammed in your pant leg. Your horror slides quickly into confusion. “It is?”

“I got you covered, and you don’t have to come in till 3. Silco gave me a call last night and told me to switch your shift. I sent you a text.”

"Oh." You sit back on the bed, stunned. “He did?"

"Yep."

"Why?”

“He’s the boss. He doesn’t have to give a reason and I don’t ask questions. It works out for me anyway. I messed up the schedule and put two newbies together for close, and I would have felt like an ass calling you in again to do the drawer.”

The adrenaline is fading, but your mind is now racing at a hundred miles an hour as you flop back onto your pillow. “Yeah, that really worked out.”

“Well since I've got you here, I wanted to ask if you could make a quick meeting with me tonight after close. It shouldn’t take more than 5 minutes.”

“Uh huh.”

“Great. Now get back to bed. You sound like hell.” 

You stifle a yawn. “I feel like it too. Night. I mean bye, thanks.”

You can just hear her throaty chuckle as you hang up. You don’t quite understand what’s going on, and quite frankly, you’re too tired to try and figure it out. You set a new alarm for noon and struggle out of the pant leg before flopping back into bed. As you roll onto your side and close your eyes, you wonder if the week could possibly get any stranger.

Saturday OCTOBER 2, Evening

It’s a busy night at The Last Drip. 

But the extra sleep seems to have done wonders for your mood, and you don’t even have to fight to keep a pleasant expression on your face after the fifth customer comes back with the bathroom key to tell you that it doesn’t work. 

You head through the side doors and insert the key into the bottom keyhole (The one that’s clearly marked “Please use this keyhole”), upon which the knob immediately gives way. As you push open the door for the sheepish customer, you’re reminded that people often approach reading like they approach the rules of the road. 

Meant for thee and not for me. 

“Oh haha wow! I didn’t see that. I must be more tired than I thought.”

“It’s alright, it happens all the time.”

You hum while you put the key back on the peg located next to the community board. You glance at the “Meet our Staff!”, which decorates the top of the chalkboard in large, playful letters. The writing is familiar, and you wonder vaguely if Jinx was the one who wrote it.

A collection of mini polaroids are lined up beneath the heading, and you automatically find yours taped somewhere in the middle of the lineup. It was taken on your first day at The Last Drip, and you’re standing behind the register wearing your favorite Bowie t-shirt and an awkward smile. 

The picture gives you a strange feeling. When you first started working for Sevika you’d been at the bottom of the food chain, but it hadn’t been long before you'd been elevated to the top. That could be attributed to the fact that you were at least eight years older than the majority of your coworkers, and Sevika naturally looked to you to lead the team. It could also have been because most of the kids who came through only stayed six months or so before moving on, so you became a lead based solely on your ability to last longer than anybody else. 

But maybe, just maybe, a part of it was because you really do pay attention.

Guess you haven’t been doing as much coasting as you thought.  

“You know what, Sherri? I think I’m going to take my thirty. Can you and Jefferson hold down the fort till I get back?”

“Yeah for sure, we got it. What are we pulling at?”

“18 even.”

“Cool.”

After receiving two thumbs up you hang up your apron, grab your sweatshirt, and make for the exit. The sun’s just beginning to drop below the city skyline when you step outside, casting purple shadows across the cracked sidewalks. There’s a slight chill in the air, and you jam your hands into your pockets as you head down the street. There’s an alley nearby that’s filled with street food vendors on the weekends, and the Korean Fusion Truck is one of your favorite haunts.

You add a side of kimchi fries to your usual bowl of bibimbap, and quickly find a table nearby. A contented sigh escapes you after you stuff the first steaming handful of fries into your mouth, but you barely have time to take a second bite before a flash of blue drops onto the chair next to you with an enthusiastic, “Hiya toots!”

“Hey, Jinx!” 

Today the girl is dressed in a dress reminiscent of Wednesday Addams, her hair still in braids. She’s carrying a coffin shaped purse and wearing a smile way too cheerful for the amount of black smudged liner on her lids.

“What are you doing here?”

She waves her hand. “The real question is, when can you come to the studio? I’m blocked and desperate for a distraction.”

“Blocked? Since yesterday?”

“The artistic muse is fickle. Besides, nobody else wants to watch HalloweenTown with me and I’m pretty sure you will.”

“Well you’re absolutely right about that.”

“I knew it,” She grabs a handful of your fries and munches on them distractedly. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Well my sister is getting home from a trip tonight and we made plans. But I work open on Monday.”

“Hm. You know I used to have a sister too, but she died when I was a kid.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

She licks her fingers and shrugs. “It’s whatever. Life sucks, you go through a thousand losses and mental breakdowns, and then you die, right?”

Before you can even begin to figure out how to answer, she’s bouncing back. “At least I’ve got Silco. And Sevika! Although she’s more like a reluctant aunt since she's almost as old as he is. How old are you?” 

“Twenty eight.”

“Dude, seriously? That means you’re like, ten years older than me! And ten years younger than Sevika, and fifteen years younger than Silco.”

That means Silco’s… 43?

“Huh.”

“Yeah, I know. He’s super old, right?”

The sudden, striking image of Silco leaning up against a counter flashes across your mind. His sleeves are rolled up, his hair is fashionably askew, and a smirk is tugging up at the corner of his scarred lips.

“I wouldn’t say that,” You reply, hoping she can’t see the heat flushing your cheeks. “When you’re young age matters, but the older you get what it really boils down to is life experience.”

“Sure, whatever,” She holds out her hand. “I need your phone real quick.” 

You pass it over without thinking.

Besides, women seem to reach peak maturity faster than men do. 

You take another handful of fries, thinking. While Silco might be literally 15 years older than you, he may only figuratively be a few years ahead. Of course his life experience still needs to be taken into account, but his past can’t be as wildly criminal as everybody seems to believe.

Can it?

The question leaves your mouth before you can stop it.

“What did Silco do before he was director of ZCC?”

“Something to do with the military. That’s where he met Sevika. And that’s how he got landed with me.” 

She throws up a peace sign.

Now that she's mentioned it, you could definitely see Sevika as ex-military. But you can’t help wondering how she went from military operations to managing The Last Drip. And what about Silco? What exactly did he do? And what does he do now, for that matter? 

Whatever it is, he certainly seems to have his fingers in a lot of pies.

“There, I had you text me so I have your number.”

You blink as she shoves your phone back into your hand. “Thanks. So, what have you got going on today?”

“I just got out of class, and I need to buy some stuff for a super secret project I’m working on. Have you been to The Lanes Warehouse? They have so many art supplies there it literally makes me want to scream.”

“I went a few times when I was in school, but that was years ago.”

“Well we should go together. You can learn a lot about a person based on what kinds of art supplies they buy. Or the kinds of weapons they prefer, but that’s a question for another day.” She takes one gulp of your drink before knocking you in the shoulder. “Well I gotta run and see the old man about a gun. Thanks for sharing your stuff! See ya toots!”

And just like that she’s gone.

You reach for your fries with a bemused smile, only to realize that they’ve all been eaten. You don’t quite have the heart to be mad at Jinx. She’s given you a lot to think about, and you spend the rest of your lunch, and the final hours of your shift, creating even more hairbrained theories about Silco’s past than Connor. 

You finish closing in record time, and climb the stairs up to Sevika’s office. She’s clipping a cigaretto when you appear, and she beckons you inside as she lights the tip.

You have time to settle before she’s finished puffing out a few clouds of aromatic smoke.

“Alright, so I’ll keep this brief. Silco’s finally come to his senses and is handing the brewery expansion project over to me.”

The brewery expansion. 

Sevika may have mentioned the project once or twice (or a hundred times) over the last year. Her favorite topic of conversation is to bring up all the ways that the current project manager is an idiot.

“Congratulations.”

She looks pleased. “If everything goes according to plan, I’ll be transferring to head of operations starting in November. Which is why I want to start handing the responsibilities of The Last Drip over to you, if you want them.” 

You stare at her, dumbfounded.

“It would make my life a hell of a lot simpler having someone I trust take on the day-to-day responsibilities of the shop while I figure out the mess Chuck’s made of the contract. And let’s face it, you’ve been doing most of that leg work for the last few months anyway.”

Your head is spinning. “You want me to manage The Last Drip?”

She nods, tobacco and spices spilling from her mouth in heavy plumes. “To start you won’t be doing much more than you are now, but you’ll officially be the new point of contact for the team, take the lead on training, and do all the ordering. And don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’re more than prepared to take the reins when the time comes.” 

She leans forward to flick the ash into the tray on her desk, then hisses and makes a grab for her shoulder. At your questioning look she jerks her head.

“It’s this damn rain. It gets between the plates and my skin and makes my bones ache.” 

Her jacket sleeve pulls away from her glove as she reaches into the top drawer of her desk, giving you a view of her prosthetic. The gold coated carbon fiber arm is some kind of fancy prototype that’s been attached to the nerves in her shoulder so her hand and fingers are fully articulating. Thinking about it now, it seems like an expensive prosthesis.

Must have been a parting gift from the military.

She pulls out a bottle and pours herself a glass of amber colored liquid before fishing two small purple pills out of her pocket. The pills and the drink are gone in three seconds flat. 

“You know, I’ve been trying to convince Silco to give me the brewery project ever since he brought it to the table. I don’t know what you said to him last night, but whatever it was, it made one hell of an impression.”

"Oh," A blush blotches your cheeks as you remember every single stupid thing you said.

If by ‘impression’ she means you did your best impersonation of a looney tunes character, then yeah.

"I’m sure I made a huge impression.”

She smirks. “Look, Silco doesn’t trust just anybody. If he wants you to run a branch of his business, that means he saw something in you that he likes, and that doesn’t happen too often.”

You blink in surprise. “Wait, Silco wants me to run The Last Drip?”

“It was his idea.”

It’s a lot to take in at once. "I don’t know what to say. But thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. You still have a shit ton of boring ass training videos to watch, and they’re all on floppy disks, if you’re even old enough to know what those are.”

“Yeah, I am. I mean, I do know what they are.”

“Good, that saves me a lot of time,” She leans back with a satisfied smile. “Silco was right, you’re the obvious choice. I’m just mad I didn’t think about promoting you earlier. I could’ve been spending the last couple months getting drunk tasting craft beers instead of having my blood pressure ruined by a bunch of snot-nosed college kids.” 

“Well I’m glad I can help you out with that.”

“You’ll start your training in November. I’ll have you shadow me in the office a few times a week, and you’ll see a change in your wage. Any questions?”

You shake your head.

“Good. Now get out of here so I can drink my brandy in peace.”

You walk slowly to your car.

For so long you’ve been feeling stuck and without a purpose, as if the coffee shop was just some random hiding place you limped into to lick your wounds after life knocked you down. But now it seems like it was exactly where you were supposed to be all along.

You’re going to manage The Last Drip. 

And on Silco’s orders, no less.

The entire drive home you try to recall what he might have seen in you that inspired such confidence.

Nothing comes to mind.

By the time you push open the door to your apartment you’re tired of thinking and in need of a distraction. That distraction quickly takes the form of epic music and sounds of clashing battle coming from the living room.

Allie.

The sound suddenly cuts off as you drop your keys on the counter.

“Hey, whaddup!”

“Hey. Do my ears deceive me, or are you actually playing Horizon?”

When you step around the wall, you spy your sister on the couch. She's in her signature sweatpants, and her purple hair is in a messy bun on top of her head. She's got a ramen bowl in one tattooed hand, and a Playstation controller in the other. The cats are curled up on either side of her, purring.

She looks sheepish. “Yeah. I had a walk-in client yesterday who wanted Aloy’s bow tattooed on her forearm, and I figured it was probably a sign for me to give it a shot.”

“Good pun. 10 out of 10.”

“Honestly, that wasn’t even on purpose.”

“Yeah, I figured.” 

It only took you three years to convince your sister to play Horizon Zero Dawn, and of course you knew she’d love it. You’d have to be insane not to love a game about a post-apocalyptic viking bossbabe fighting metal dinosaurs (In your opinion).

Allie stuffs her face with noodles before mumbling. “How’s work been? I feel like I haven’t talked to you in ages.”

“Good. I’m going to start training to be a manager in November.”

“What? Dude, that's amazing!”

You drop down on the edge of the sofa. “Thanks. I still can’t believe it.”

“Why not? You’ve been there for ages. Besides, most of the people who visit think you own the place.”

“No they don’t.”

“Yes they do! Don’t you read the yelp reviews?”

“No. Wait, do you mean to tell me that you’ll spend time looking at yelp reviews for the shop, but you’re too busy to respond to my text messages?”

“Okay I’m sorry but I don’t have to respond back to every single meme you send me.”

“But memes are my love language.”

“Wow. You seriously need to get more friends.”

“Rude!”

“But true.”

You huff. “Well for your information I just made one yesterday. Her name’s Jinx. She’s Silco’s daughter.”

That name has an instantaneous effect.

Her mouth drops open. “Hold on a second. Silco’s daughter? Does that mean you’ve finally met him?”

“Dude, seriously? Did you just open the messages I sent today so they were put on ‘read’?”

Her guilty expression is telling. “Your texts were like a mile long and I was really busy packing! Then Marcus called on video chat and I talked to him on the drive home…”

“Wait, Marcus? You mean awkward Marcus, the one you said had a boring stick up his butt?”

“I might have exaggerated a little bit. He's not horribly boring. And he's kinda cute, so I think he's got some potential.”

“Didn’t he forget his wallet on your first date?”

“Yeah, but he apologized a ton and made up for it by paying for everything on the second date. Even the drinks. And it turns out Marcus and I both love solving puzzles, so we’re going to go do an escape room next weekend. You should come with us!”

She’s trying to sound nonchalant, but there’s a familiar, starry look in her eye.

You bury a sigh. 

Here we go again.

It’s not that you don’t like escape rooms, but you know your sister, and you know that if you go you’ll be the third wheel on what’s sure to be the most awkward date in history. Still, you're curious to see what made her change her mind about him. He must have seriously upped his game to land himself a second and third date after such a horrible first.

“Alright.”

She pumps her fist. “Heck yes! It’s gonna be so much fun, I swear.”

I guess we’ll find out.

She takes another bite of noodles. “Now, Silco. What’s he like, really?”

“I don’t know. He's ex-military, so I think he's used to, you know... commanding people. But he's also very polite and observant and intelligent.”

“So, you still think he’s still sexy now that you’ve met him in person or…?”

“What? I never said I thought he was sexy!”

“Well maybe not in so many words, but it was always heavily implied. Also you’re blushing, so case and point.”

“I’m not blushing,” You lie, definitely blushing. “It’s just really hot in here.”

“It’s alright sis. Just open your arms wide and embrace the crush.”

“Come on Allie, you know I can’t do that. He’s my boss! And he’s 43!”

“43’s not that old. Marcus is almost 40. And anyway, women are usually way more mature than men so age doesn’t really matter.”

Weren't you just having this conversation with Jinx?

You pinch the bridge of your nose to stave off the odd sense of deja vu. “I’m not saying it does, but I just became friends with his 17 year old daughter so that makes it a little weird.”

“But she’s not his real daughter right?”

You heave a sigh. “I don’t know why I thought I’d get good relationship advice from my hopeless romantic of a sister.”

“You probably told me because deep down you secretly want the encouragement.”

“Ugh, stop, please!”

“Fine. You’re right I’m sorry. I'll stop.”

“Thank you.”

The silence stretches.

“So I guess that means he’s sexy, right?”

You release a groan and throw your face into the nearest pillow.

“I knew it.”

Chapter Text

Sunday October 3, afternoon to evening

The yearly fall apartment decorating extravaganza is well underway.

It’s The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown  plays in the background as you rummage through the fall signs. Most of them are from your mother. Gather, Give Thanks, Thankful, Hello Pumpkin,  and  Happy Pumpkin Spiced Latte Season  are among her most notable donations. 

You flip through them until you find the one you’re looking for- Welcome, Foolish Mortals- and you hang it on the front door with a satisfied smile.

“Alright, where should we put Barkley and the Boo Brothers this year?”

“Definitely somewhere that Croc can’t get to them.”

As your sister leaves the room in a flurry of orange and purple, you nestle the trio of ghosts among the fake pumpkins that crowd your mantle. You’ve amassed quite a collection over these last few years (also on account of your mother). She finds great joy in going to craft fairs and buying multiples of the decorations she likes so she can give some to you and your sister.

This year she sent two leopard print felt pumpkins, and you make sure they're front and center with the Boo Brothers.

Next you feel along the frame that gilds the painting of the headless horseman above the mantelpiece, and flip the hidden switch. The flames enveloping his grinning pumpkin head begin to flicker, casting a candlelight effect upon your small living room. 

“Okay, it looks like we’re pretty much done up here.”

“And I’m almost done back here,” Allie calls from the bathroom. "By the way, what are we doing for food tonight?”

You take a peek in the fridge knowing full well what's inside: mostly empty condiment bottles, stray limp vegetables, and a random half package of sandwich meat.

“You want to do take-out?” You shout.

“Jericho’s?”

“You read my mind! If we call it in on the way, it might actually be ready by the time we get there.”

Allie emerges with an empty box. “I doubt it, but that would work out because that means that while I wait for the food…”

“I can go to TJ’s next door and grab us some snacks and dessert!”

“Yep. Let’s take my car because I need to get some gas on the way back.”

“Fine by me.”

You stash the tubs in the spare bedroom before grabbing sweatshirts and heading out the door.

As your sister turns on Halloween music to sing along to, you call in the food order. As soon as you hang up, your phone buzzes.

“get-jinxed liked your story”

“get-jinxed liked your story”

“get-jinxed commented on your story: OMG you guys are so cute!”

The comment is on a terrible mirror selfie pic of you and Allie getting ready to decorate the house. You’re rocking orange and black striped socks, matching Hocus Pocus shirts, and are making spectacularly unpretty faces. 

Even though you’ve already checked out her profile at least ten times since Friday, you can’t help doing it one more time. The only photos on her page are her posing alone, her posing with her art, and WIP reels. She has a lot of followers, but there's no mentions of friends. When you click through the link posted on her profile, it leads you to her personal artist website. 

An announcement immediately pops up, reminding you of her upcoming exhibition. 

“You down to go to an art show on October 16?” You ask as you put it in your calendar.

“Maybe, but I think I have a late client that day. What time is it?”

“7pm.”

“I might be able to make it. Where’s it at?”

“Uh, hold on.”

You punch in the avant-garde name listed as the studio. It’s a commercial address. Google search brings up an interesting array of pictures.

“Huh. Looks like it's going to be in one of the abandoned industrial factories.”

“By The Fissures?”

"Uh huh."

There’s a sludgy river that slithers between the city lines of Piltover and Zaun, and it's lined on either side with huge abandoned factories. One of them was repurposed into a packing house, with the best indoor dining and shopping Piltover County has to offer. You'd thought the others had been chained off from the public.

Seems you were wrong.

You start to scroll through to the rest of her website. Jinx’s portfolio contains a list of all the original pieces she’s sold and the art she has for sale. One particular piece catches your eye. It’s a 6x6ft canvas painted in violent strokes of red, pink, black and blue. A cloaked grim reaper looms in the center, holding a scythe in one hand and a grenade in the other. A red and orange sun hangs in the top right corner.

It’s labeled “ The Base Violence Necessary For Change”.

Something about the sun niggles at you, and after a few seconds of staring at it you realize it’s been subtly outlined to look like an eye. 

Silco’s?

On a whim you go back to her main body of work and examine them more carefully. Orange and red eyes appear in several other pieces.

That can’t be a coincidence.

You startle as your sister suddenly throws the car into park.

“Okay we’re here, get out.”

“Rude,” You grumble as you unbuckle.

“Rude is staying on your phone the entire drive instead of singing Oogie Boogie’s Song with me.”

“Give me a break, I was doing some sleuthing!”

“On who? Oh wait, don’t tell me. Is it the slightly older man you still staunchly deny you’re sweet on?”

You roll your eyes and slam the door a little harder than necessary. You hear your sister roll down the window and call after you. “Get some green tea mochi and something bubbly! I don’t care what it is. Also, we need oat milk for coffee!” 

You wave without turning around.

When you step inside Trader Joe’s, it feels like “ Grand Theft Auto 6, Suburban Mother’s Shopping Day ”. Mentally steeling yourself for a fight, you grab a basket and head towards the dairy section. You’ve only just gotten to the oat milk when you feel a cart sidle up beside you. You get the sense that the man wants to be exactly where you’re standing, but when you throw a dirty look at him over your shoulder, he doesn’t seem to notice you’re there. You barely have time to process the words Piltover County Sheriff’s Department on his hat before you allow the crowd to sweep you towards the chaos of the frozen food aisle. 

It feels like you’re in a video game as you skip between moving carts and dodge stacks of frozen enchiladas being wheeled around by employees, but somehow you manage to grab everything you need, and you're out the door fifteen minutes later.

You breathe a huge sigh of relief into the dwindling twilight. 

You made it out alive! And in record time.

You start scanning the parking lot for your sister’s Mazda, and are only just beginning to head towards Jericho’s when someone clears their throat behind you.

It’s the Piltover officer. He’s holding two small bags of groceries and a bouquet of flowers, and he seems just as surprised to see you as you are to see him.

Which is strange considering he was the one who initiated this interaction in the first place.

“Did you need something?” You ask, after several uncomfortable seconds of him scowling at you.

“No, sorry, I just… I thought you were someone else.”

At the sound of his voice, it immediately clicks.

“Wait, you’re Marcus, aren’t you?”

His scowl turns suspicious. “You know me?”

“Well I assume you thought I was my sister, Allie. She’s talked about you, and I figured there can’t be too many Australians in the Piltover Sheriff’s Department.”

“Oh.”

Yeah, oh.

He frowns. “She said she had a sister. I guess I didn’t realize how much you two looked alike.”

You have to fight hard to suppress a disbelieving snort. Despite the fact that Allie has purple hair and you don’t, she’s also three years older than you and covered in tattoos. To be fair you are wearing a hat and sweatshirt, but still. You hardly share any similar facial features except maybe your smiles.

He shuffles from one foot to the other. “Well, uh… I heard you’re going to that escape room with us next weekend.”

“Yep, I heard that too.”

“Are you bringing a partner with you?”

“Nope. I figure it won’t be too hard for me to chaperone you guys on my own. But I do expect you to maintain at least one foot of personal space between you at all times. You know, as room for the Holy Spirit.”

His frown deepens. 

“I’m joking.”

“Oh.”

Wow.

“Well, I should get going,” You say, starting to inch away. “My sister’s probably waiting for me.”

“Okay. Do you think…”

He clamps his mouth shut as a strange expression takes over his face: like he’s tasted a particularly sour lemon and is pissed off about it.

As time ticks away, it doesn't appear like he's going to finish his sentence. The silence begins to creep a little too closely into the realm of uncomfortable, and just when you think you should walk away and rescue you both from the misery of this conversation, he shoves the flowers at you.

“These are for your sister. I was going to keep them until tomorrow, but it’s probably better if you take them today so they can get put in water.”

“Why don’t you give them to her yourself? She’s just over there.”

There’s a flicker of something on his face as he looks where you're pointing across the parking lot, but it’s gone before you can dissect it.

“No, I have to get back to my daughter. I guess I’ll see you Saturday.”

He tips his hat and is gone before you can get in another word.

You stare after his stiff retreating form for a moment before looking back at the bouquet. It’s actually nicely designed. The flowers are wild and there’s a lot of greenery. It’s exactly the kind of thing your sister would pick for herself.

It’s a surprising and slightly intriguing factoid, but unfortunately for him, his flower picking skills are the only thing that have recommended him to you so far.

What the heck do you see in this guy Allie?

“I didn’t realize the Sheriff was your devoted admirer.”

You jump at the sound of Silco’s voice so close to your ear. You barely manage to avoid bumping into his shoulder when you spin around to face him.

“Good lord! You scared me.”

“I can see that.” 

He looks mildly amused.

As you take a moment to catch your breath, he tips his head to the side. You notice he’s wearing his eyepatch again.

“Are you going to a party?”

“What? Oh, no. Me and my sister are just having a night in. It’s tradition to decorate the house during the first week of October and watch our favorite Halloween movie. She’s actually over at Jericho’s right now, and I was sent into the war zone for snacks and dessert. Also drinks.”

You pull out a paper wrapped bottle and are surprised when he tugs it out of your hand. He carefully unwraps it and examines the label. 

“Hmm.”

“What? Is it not good?”

His right brow rises. “Did you not know what kind of alcohol you were buying?”

“Not really, no,” Your grin is sheepish. “I don’t drink all that often, but my sister likes to try something new whenever we stop by.”

He carefully rewraps it. “I believe I have something better.”

You fall in step beside him as he starts to walk.

“What movie will you be watching tonight?”

“Young Frankenstein. ”

"Hm."

It's obvious he hasn't heard of it, and you’re not surprised. He doesn’t seem like the type who would appreciate Mel Brooks’ brand of humor. He strikes you as more of a documentary kind of guy.

“Jinx told me this morning that you’d be spending time at her studio tomorrow. A costume party, she called it.”

"Yes," You reply, though you'd already forgotten about the costume part.

You mentally add "throw together a costume" on your tomorrow to-do list.

He stops walking abruptly.

“What do you want from my daughter?”

You look at him in confusion. “Want? Nothing. I mean, she seems like a great girl and she asked if I wanted to hang out so I said yes.”

“I’m sure it hasn’t escaped your notice that my daughter is… different. Excitable, if I could put it in such a way. Her early life was anything but normal, and she was exposed to many things that would have destroyed the minds of other girls her age. Yet she survived. This makes her special.”

“I'm sure it does. And I know that I don’t know a lot about Jinx, but I want to get to know her better. I think she needs a friend.”

“She has me and Sevika.”

“But you’re her father, and Sevika… well, let’s face it, she’s not the friendly, nurturing type. Jinx needs someone to relate to who isn’t a guardian.”

“And you consider yourself the best person for that job?”

“I don't consider myself as anything," You say with a hint of annoyance.

His cool tone is starting to get to you.

"Look, if you’re worried that I’m going to force her into a blood pact to join my secret friendship cult or talk to her about my new essential oil mlm, don’t be. We’re just hanging out in her studio, in costumes, like normal people. That’s it.”

He doesn't bat an eyelash at your extra dash of sarcasm, but after a moment of holding your gaze he nods.

“That's a small mercy I suppose. I’ve grown tired of cleaning blood from the carpets.”

As you snort, the tension between you dissipates.

His words bring to mind a conversation you had with your mother only last week.

“Did you know that lemon essential oil is actually super helpful for cleaning up blood stains?” 

He blinks in surprise.

“Trust me, it's great! Just splash a few drops, let it soak in, then buff it with a rag and carpet cleaner. Doterra sent us an extra box, and I could sell it to you for half off if you buy a second box at full price. And if you really like it, maybe you’d consider joining my team and selling it yourself…”

You fight off a laugh as his expression goes flat.

His eye narrows. “I suppose you think you’re terribly funny.”

“If you’re looking for an apology, you aren’t going to get it. You told me I wasn’t allowed to do that anymore, remember?”

After a few beats the corner of his mouth twitches upward. “I do.”

“You also threatened to throw me into the back of your car."

"I did."

There isn't even a hint of an apology in his voice.

What an audacious man.

You can't help grinning.

“Well, I should probably get going soon or my sister is going to assume I've been kidnapped. Is that your car?”

His hint of a smile lingers as he dips his head, and leads you only a few feet onward to the black sedan. He knocks on the trunk and it opens, revealing several wooden crates. He flips the lid off one of them and pulls out a bottle.

“I believe this may end up being more to your taste than what you found in there.”

You take it from him and observe the label. It has The Last Drop’s new and improved neon green eye insignia with the word ”Shimmer” splashed across the bottom in an almost painful shade of violet.

"Shimmer," You run your finger over the scratchy, embossed letters. “Did Jinx help design this?”

“She did.”

You nod.

You're starting to recognize her handwriting.

“Thank you. What do I owe you?”

“Consider it a gift.”

“A gift? For what?”

“As compensation for losing my temper the other evening.”

“Compensation? You mean, you’re offering me an apology?”

The corner of his mouth twitches as he puts his hands behind his back. “I suppose you could call it that, in a way.”

“I see. Then I guess you could say that your apology is accepted. In a way.”

His smirk widens. He looks as if he's on the verge of speaking when Allie pulls up and honks her horn, loud music pouring out of her open windows.

“Hey, Bella! Where the hell have you been, loca?”

“Sorry, I was…”

“Distracted?” She looks pointedly at me before grinning. “And you must be Silco.”

To your horror, she eyes him slowly up and down. “My sister has told me so much about you. And I have to say, she certainly did you justice.”

“Allie!” You hiss.

You're eyes dart over to look at Silco, but he remains as cool as cucumber.

“I’m glad to have met your expectations.”

“You most certainly have. But if I can give you a tip for the next time you buy her flowers, she prefers roses. Red ones.”

“Ugh Allie, just stop, please! Marcus gave me the flowers.”

“What?” She almost looks offended.

“They’re for you, obviously.”

“Really? Oh my gosh they’re gorgeous!”

When you hand the flowers through the window she starts exclaiming over them, and you have to suppress the urge to shake your head as you trudge towards the trunk.

Silco’s hand somehow beats you to the handle.

“So, Marcus is your sister’s admirer.”

“That’s the word on the street.”

“Interesting.”

You snort as you shove the bag on top of the pile of reusable bags and miscellaneous gym items. “That’s one word for it. I only met him today, and he made a pretty bad first impression.”

This news seems to please him, but for what reason you can’t even begin to fathom.

“Thanks again for the Shimmer.”

After several seconds of staring at you he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a business card. 

“Sevika is gathering beta testers to compare the next batch we’re brewing, and requires feedback. I'd appreciate if you let me know what your sister thinks.” 

You hesitate before taking the card from him. It’s jet black and has nothing on it except a number.

You twirl it between your fingers. "I’d considered keeping the bottle to myself after the stunt she just pulled, but she’s way more qualified for a taste testing job so I guess I’ll give her a few sips.”

“You like to hold petty grudges then?”

“Not really. I mean, I try not to, but Allie makes me crazy sometimes.”

“I suppose we're all allowed to have our weaknesses.”

There’s a look in his eye that releases butterflies in the pit of your stomach.

You release a short, manic laugh. “Yes well, she’s honestly great most of the time, but she has this older sibling complex that she likes to flex on me every couple of months. Do you have any siblings?”

“I had a brother.”

“I see. Older or younger?”

“Older.”

“Well then you should understand what I’m talking about.”

“Unfortunately, I do.”

You groan as the horn is punched several more times. “Come on, the food’s getting cold and Gene Wilder’s waiting for us at home!”

“I should let you go."

"Yeah. Bye. And thanks again for the Shimmer."

"It's my pleasure."

Allie honks several more times before you manage to tear your eyes away from Silco. She starts talking the minute you buckle in, but you find it hard to keep track of the conversation. You sneak a look in the side view mirror and catch Silco's eye just before you turn out onto the street.

Perhaps it's a trick of the light (or a fool's imagination), but you’re pretty sure when you offer him a smile, he actually smiles back.

Chapter Text

Sunday October 3 (mentally), but October 4 (literally)

1:46 a.m.

It’s way too late (or too early) to be texting anyone. You know how it would look if you did, especially since it’s not urgent and you don't want to look desperate.

But still.

Silco told you to let him know what Allie thought of Shimmer.

You haven’t put his number in your phone yet. You’d thought it was best to keep the fact that you had Silco’s business card on the down low, especially after Allie polished off the third drink. Given her track record for the day, there had been a definite possibility of her stealing your phone and drunk texting Silco for you.

That was an uncomfortable situation you wanted to avoid at all costs.

You’d only felt it was safe to bring it out of your pocket because she’d finally passed out on the couch. Her snores are rumbling like tiny thunderstorms as you flex the card between your fingers. The card design is minimalist to a painful degree. There isn't even a name on it. The stock is matte black on both sides, but the lights from the headless horseman and the coffee table full of candles are flickering off the lacquered numbers.

You’ve assumed it’s his personal cell, but it could be the number to his office.

Only one way to find out. 

A little sleuthing on the ZCC, Last Drip, and Last Drop websites confirms that the numbers listed don’t match the number on the card. On a whim you Google “Silco Zaun” . Nothing comes up except for an article on the ZCC board of directors.

“Zaun business mogul Silco takes over as Head of The Board of Directors after the previous head is forced into early retirement…”

Several other articles appear without giving you any new information. Silco’s last name is never listed in the articles, which seems odd. Come to think of it, you aren’t sure the ZCC magazine mentioned his last name either.

It’s just Silco.

And yet, he has to have a last name.

Jinx’s comment about him being ex-military comes to mind, and you type in “Silco military” , hoping to get a hit since there can't be a lot of men out there named Silco. Nothing shows up immediately, so you take a new tack. If Silco and Sevika were in military service together, then maybe you could get a hit by looking up Sevika. Her name's pretty rare name too.

You grin as you get a hit. 

Lieutenant Sevika Amirah Vann, enlisted 1999, honorably discharged in 2003 due to serious sustained injuries. Her military record mentions a unit name, “Hounds of the Underground” .

That’s where you find the first mention of First Lieutenant Silco J. Spisak. 

You hurriedly move over to images and type in the name.

A fresh, young Silco appears on the screen, staring up at you with two perfect ice chip eyes. He’s wearing an officer’s uniform, face serious as all military ID photos seem to be, but the quirk at the corner of his mouth is still there, even without the scars. In fact, he’s shockingly similar to the man you know today except for the graying hair, and the blackened skin that rims his mutilated eye.

When you’re finally finished staring at him, you search his military records. He enlisted in 1994 already an officer, but like Sevika, he was honorably discharged due to injuries sustained on duty in 2003. Most of the others in their unit weren't so lucky.

Major JB Vander, deceased. 

Second Lieutenant Frederick Benzo, deceased. 

Private Roger Claggor, deceased.

Only one is still listed as alive, the unit medic, Sergeant Brett Billingsworth. There are no mentions of what happened to him after 2003, not even the mention of a discharge, honorable or otherwise.

More searching reveals that there are no more public records of Silco after 2003, so you can only imagine how Jinx got mixed up into his life. There’s probably some way to find that out, but her adoption is a rabbit trail for another night. You got what you came for: confirmation that the number he gave you is not linked to an office. It could be a home number, but it’s most likely his cell. He does always seem to be everywhere, all at once. It’s an easy enough theory to test out, anyway. All you have to do is send a text, and if it goes through you’ve got your answer.

As you input his name into your phone, you can’t help wondering what the J stands for.

Silco J. Spisak.

It’s nice to know that he has a last name. It makes him feel a little less like a Bond villain. 

There’s an option to add a photo when you save the number, and as embarrassing as it is to admit, you’ve got a picture of him saved in your camera roll. One of your new coworkers had a ZCC pamphlet in the break room on Saturday, and during a moment of weakness you’d snapped a picture of his portrait. 

Well it’s not like he’ll ever see it.

You scroll through to upload, then spend a few moments staring at it.

His expression is not unlike the one in his enlisted photo, yet there’s a fire lingering behind his eyes. While young Silco radiated arrogance, older Silco is a bit more…

Sexy?

No, dangerous.

Is there really a difference?

You hurriedly hit save and shove the phone into your pocket.

You probably shouldn't text him. It's late, and you're definitely not in your right state of mind.

A loud thunk draws your attention across the room, where Allie’s shifting around in her sleep. Her phone fell out of her pocket and onto the hardwood floor. You heave yourself to your feet and shuffle over to grab it, and it lights up with a notification as you’re about to set it on the table.

“Message from Mark’s Ass”

You snort.

She’d only been on her second drink when she’d changed Marcus’ name in her phone (yet another good reason why you didn’t let her know you had Silco’s number). Then she’d sent him a gushy text outlining how wonderful the flowers were and how she would think of him every time she smelled them.

But that was hours ago, and apparently he’d only just gotten around to answering her message.

That’s strike two Mark’s Ass.

His last chance to prove himself will be Saturday, unless he stalks you and traps you into another awkward grocery store conversation between now and next weekend.

You sincerely hope not.

You’re horribly tempted to open the message and read it, but contrary to what you’d led Silco to believe, you’re not that petty. Your sister could be a real pain in the butt sometimes, but at least she’s a pain in the butt who loves you and just wants the best for you. Her affection often comes out in strange and unhelpful ways, but still, the heart is always there.

With a shake of your head you blow out the candles and take all your unwashed dishes to the sink. Your phone weighs heavily in your pocket.

Just send the text. It's not a big deal. If it goes through, he’s probably not going to be awake to see it anyway.  

The phone is in your hand before you can think. The message is short, letting him know it’s you and thanking him again for the bottle. When it sends, you wait a few minutes. You don’t get anything back telling you the action is not supported.

You’re only just considering whether to compose the second message when the first gets marked as read.

You gape like a fish when the text bubble appears.

“You’re up late.”

“I could say the same for you.”

This reply doesn't get marked as read. After a minute or two of anxious pacing you decide that you might as well do the dishes. There’s no way you’re going to be able to settle into bed while your heart’s beating like a wild bird in a cage. 

You’re in the middle of scrubbing a particularly stubborn piece of food from a fork when you get the next notification.

“I have a perfectly valid reason. I was finalizing a deal with the owner of the new restaurant in The Fissures.”

“Okay, sounds legit. You get a pass.” 

You briefly consider garnishing the text with a saluting emoji, but chicken out at the last second. Somehow you don’t think he’ll appreciate that kind of thing. Also, should you even include emojis when you’re texting your boss? Despite the fact that you initiated this communication, you’re not exactly sure what the protocol is for this kind of situation. It seems strange to have a casual conversation with him during a normal time of day, let alone at the very unprofessional hour of… 

2:01am.

Is it already that late?

His next message only adds to your sudden onset of anxiety.

“I don’t suppose you have an excuse? I know you’re scheduled to open in the morning.”

He knows you're going to open? Why does he know you're going to open?

It’s difficult to read the tone of his message. Is it patronizing? Is it factual? Is it flirtatious? 

You somehow doubt it’s the last one - He has compared you to his 17 year old daughter on several occasions - But your poor, addled mind can always hope.

“I absolutely do not. But if you’d answered me in the morning like I expected (and like any normal person would have), I probably would have had a really good one lined up for you.”

Without an emoji the text sounds completely accusatory, but it’s too late now.

You violently scrub your way through two crusty pots before he responds.

“My apologies."

Yep, now you’ve done it. Now he thinks you’re calling him out, just like you did in the Trader Joe's parking lot.

You’ve got a soapy knife clutched in your hand as you rush to send a reply.

"No need to apologize! I should have gone to bed hours ago." 

This time you add in an emoji. The awkward laugh, you're tried and true go-to.

"Texting is not my usual form of communication. I prefer phone calls.”

“Well you’re really missing out. Texting is great because it changes what should be a simple one minute conversation into one that lasts at least an hour and a half.”

“That sounds infuriating.”

“It can be fun, depending on who you’re texting with.”

You're not exactly sure what happens next. It’s almost as if your hand get's possessed by the spirit of your drunken sister while she sleeps, and in less time than it takes to blink you’ve searched for and sent an upside down happy face emoji. 

You experience a moment of pure panic.

That makes you appear way more flirtatious than you were intending.

The time between this text and the next is so long you have time to dry all the dishes after you finish them, wipe down the stove top, and think about the one time in junior high you tripped and fell flat on your face in front of the entire boys’ basketball team.

This text conversation feels a thousand times worse than that.

You toss a handful of dirty paper towels in the trash and admit to yourself that this was probably a doomed conversation from the start. Aside from the fact it’s 2am, Silco is, after all, in his forties. Texting is bound to be out of his wheelhouse. Heck, guys your own age can hardly be relied on to hold a decent text conversation these days, so why would he?

“I’ll have to take your word for it.”

“You should! I have a lot of experience with these things :)”

Well, now it sounds like you text men at 2am all the time.

Idiot!

Maybe texting is outside your wheelhouse too.

You hurry to end this horrible conversation before you make it any worse.

“And on that note I should probably get to the point because as you said, I do work in the morning! I just wanted to let you know that I’m going to text you the notes about Shimmer tomorrow.”

“That would be appreciated.”

“Okay cool. Good night!”

You don’t get an answer to that. When you at last drag yourself to bed you feel so emotionally exhausted you can hardly keep your eyes open. Yet somehow you still manage to find the time for an existential crisis before you fall into a restless sleep.

OCTOBER 5, 10a.m.

Your day is not going very well. No, not at all.

The coworker at the register, Amber, is new, and can’t seem to take orders properly to save her life. The sheer number of drinks you've had to remake is off the charts. You're struggling not to be in a foul mood, and the customers aren't struggling at all. It’s only when you finally sit down on your thirty in the back that you feel it’s safe to put your head in your hands and release a full bodied sigh. 

You close your eyes, and for some time you simply embrace the silence.

But it’s not long before Sevika storms in to karate chop your tentative grasp on serenity.

“In my office, now.”

You drag your feet, dread following you all the way up the stairs.

Did Silco tell her you texted him last night? He must have, and now Sevika’s going to fire you and it's all that stupid emoji's fault.

The urge to squirm when you sit down across the desk from her is intense. For several moments she simply stares at you while drumming her fingers on the desk.

“I’m going to kill him,” She spits out at last.

“Kill who?” You squeak.

“Chuck. Do you know what that idiot did with the books? He pissed on them. The amount of overtime I’m going to have to log to clean up his mess is fucking ridiculous.”

You can't help it. You slump forward in relief.

This has nothing to do with you.

“I’m going to need to push your training forward. You got a computer that can handle a floppy disk? No? What a fucking surprise. My office at The Last Drop has one. You got time this week to go over and knock out those videos?”

“Sure, when-”

She cuts you off. “I’m not going to be there at all this week so how about you just clock in whenever you’re there and I’ll approve the hours. There’s about 8 hours worth of videos, so do whatever you gotta do to watch ‘em. At the end there will be a 50 question quiz that only an idiot like Chuck would fail, so as long as you don’t be like Chuck, you’ll do fine. When you finish the test I’ll also need a printed version of the certificate for my files because our training system is fucking antiquated.”

She digs around in her pocket and presses a key in your hand. “That’s for the office, and the floppy disks are in one of the cabinets. Lose that key and we’re both screwed.”

“Don’t worry, nobody’s getting screwed on my watch.”

It’s only after you say it that you realize how it sounds.

“Er, I mean, we will not be screwed in the sense that Silco will not need to screw you or I… oh wow, that’s so much worse. The important thing is that I won’t lose the key.”

You don’t even have the energy to feel embarrassed when Sevika pulls a whiskey from under her desk with a husky chuckle. “You’re hilarious sometimes, you know that?”

"Yeah, well I was thinking of quitting to become a full time clown so...”

The joke isn’t that funny, but her laugh is so loud you almost jump out of your seat. 

You begin to wonder if maybe the whiskey bottle’s half empty because Sevika already drank some of it this morning. 

“I knew you were one of the good ones when I hired you,” She takes a few drinks. “I’m pretty shit at it most of the time, but with you I did alright.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

She swings her boots up and crosses them heavily on the desk. “At least I’ll be out of here soon, and then I’ll get to watch you make your own shitty hiring decisions.”

“Just one more thing for me to look forward to.”

When she grins, she reminds you of the wolf who ate little red riding hood’s grandmother.  “Just you wait until you have to sit in front of Silco and explain why the profits keep dipping. It doesn’t matter whose fault it actually is, you’re the one who has to take one for the team.”

“Oh don’t worry, I’m used to that. If there’s one thing I learned from corporate Piltover, it’s how to take a punch.”

She grunts. “At least you didn’t have the government breathing down your neck. I couldn’t itch my ass crack without someone asking me to write a report about it.”

You lean back, hoping your voice stays casual. “Government? What did you do before you came to The Last Drip?”

“Military, then private contracting. Real Jack Ryan type shit.”

“What made you come work here? I never would have pegged you as wanting to be a manager of a coffee shop.”

“Neither would I, not in a million years. But Silco made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

“So you followed Silco here?”

“What can I say? The man knows how to be persuasive.”

You give her a moment to drink a little more before you continue.

“So you and he worked together? Before?”

“We met in the army, then when it got too hot for us there we went into private contracting. Did that for a few years, until this --" She points to the arm -- "and he picked up the kid. That's when he decided it was time to retire from the violent life. I owe him a lot, and he’s treated me better than any of those government goons ever did.”

She flexes her prosthesis, a frown on her face.

“I loved being in the fight, but after a few years of being boots down in every hot spot in the world, even I can admit that heading into retirement with most of my limbs still intact is appealing. So here I am. A completely domesticated civie, living a life of ease.”

“You? Domesticated? Never.”

She grins. “Damn straight. But enough shooting the shit. You better get back downstairs before the new girl burns the place down.”

"Yeah." You release a sigh as you stand, but you only make it as far as the door before you turn around. “Oh! Before I forget. I'm going to text you and Silco this afternoon about Shimmer.”

She frowns. “Why?”

“Well I ran into him yesterday and he told me that you were looking for beta tasters to compare Shimmer batches. He gave me a bottle and asked me to let him know what my sister thought about it.”

“Did he?” She asks.

She’s eyeing you with an unabashed curiosity that makes you incredibly nervous.

“You can feel free to ignore it, if it's not what you're looking for.”

“I will. Silco’s the one who will make the final decisions for Shimmer anyway. Let me just give you his number.”

“Oh! I uh… I already have it.”

She looks less surprised than you thought she’d be. In fact, her smile seems to be growing.

It’s kind of freaking you out.

You start backing away. “Okay well uh... talk to you later?”

“You bet your ass I will.”

You’ve only just rounded the corner when you hear her chuckle. “That sneaky son of a bitch.”

You have no idea what to make of that.

Chapter Text

Monday October 4, 1pm (Or thereabouts)

Silco and Jinx live almost dead center in the middle of Zaun, in one of the oldest communities near main street. Before Jinx gave you the address you thought you’d be driving to the south into the thriving community of mansions that dot the ridgelines of Piltover Hills, but it makes sense that he’d choose to live in town. He’s involved in so many businesses, it's the most convenient place to be.

Still, you’d imagined him living somewhere a little more grand.

Not that his house isn’t nice. It appears to be the largest property on the street, with a well manicured lawn that leads up to a sprawling, Tudor style home. There’s a fence guarding the perimeter and you have to put in the code Jinx gave you to pull into the driveway. The gate closes behind you, and you drive through a vine covered stone archway to enter into a wide courtyard. Jinx told you to park next to her studio, which is actually a two story garage, and as you climb the stairs to the door you can clearly hear the sound of pounding drums.

Despite the racket, Jinx somehow manages to hear your knock.

“The door’s open!”

The sight that greets you when you enter is absolute chaos. The studio is large and well lit, and is crammed with more art supplies than one person could ever hope to fit into one room. The walls, floor, and even ceiling have been touched by paint, though only one of the walls seems to have been purposefully decorated. There are canvases of every size and shape in one corner of the room, and gallons of paint are stacked in goopy piles in the other. Strewn about at no particular attempt at order are paint tubes, brushes, and spray paint cans. 

Jinx peeks around the corner of an easel with a grin, a top hat perched on her head.

“You made it!”

“Safe, sound, and ready for action.”

Jinx had texted you as soon as you got off work. Her first question was if you liked Tim Burton. The second was if you would accept the honor of modeling for one of her paintings.

Of course you said yes.

"So, the muse came back after all?” 

"It took all night, but I finally nagged her into giving me some inspiration. I’m calling it ‘ Down the Rabbit Hole’. It’s going to be my hot take on Alice in Wonderland. It's kinda the theme of the show.”

“And I’ll be posing as…?”

“Any character you like!" She stops painting to beam at you. "I put together a few racks of costumes for you to check out. I don’t care what you pick, but I really want you to find the character that speaks to you, and infuse your own flavor into it.”

“My own flavor huh?” 

You wander over to the racks and begin to browse. 

There are several interesting dresses in powder blue for Alice, a large puffy white jacket that screams White Rabbit, and an interesting collection of designer sweat suits that you think might be intended for Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee. There’s also a suit that reminds you of something Silco might wear. While the tag doesn’t say Armani, a furtive sniff confirms the faint hint of pine and tobacco.

You run your fingers across the slightly worn fabric, playing with the idea of putting on the suit only for a moment before quickly discarding it.

That might be taking things just a little too far, even for you.

You firmly draw the line at internet stalking.

The next thing on the rack, however, catches your interest. It’s a spectacular red power suit from the 80's that’s clearly meant for The Queen of Hearts. It consists of a sleeveless, knee length peplum dress and a matching blazer that has tiny playing cards stitched along its sharp, silky lapels. You grab a pair of stilettos, which appear to be the only pair of shoes that match the outfit, and head to the bathroom to change.

As soon as you’ve got on the ensemble you stand back to admire yourself in the mirror. It fits like a glove. And perhaps it's just the height you've gained by putting on the heels, but you’re suddenly feeling ten times more confident about yourself.

As you carefully totter out of the bathroom, Jinx squeals. 

“The Queen of Hearts! Oh it’s absolutely perfect, and exactly what I would have picked for you. And now for the makeup.”

You’d already put on a base layer before you left the house (at Jinx’s request), so it takes less than five minutes for her to apply a vibrant blue eye shadow and dots of pink blush.

Her tongue starts to stick out as she concentrates on painting on the eyeliner. 

“How’d you know my dress size?” You ask slowly, trying not to move your face too much.

“Oh I just guessed! Silco says it’s a superpower of mine." She nods as she finishes the look. "Done. Okay, you can put the lipstick on yourself."

She hands you a mirror and a fancy tube of chanel and you almost do a double take when you see your reflection. You’d forgotten how different you look wearing a full face of make-up. You rarely doll yourself up except for special occasions, and there have been precious few of those over the last few years. 

You haven’t even gone on a real date since you started at The Last Drip.

But let’s not follow that depressing line of thought, shall we?

The lipstick glides on smoothly, and after spending a little time fluffing up your hair and positioning a tiny gold crown on your head, Jinx begins to pose you like her own personal Malibu Barbie. The first thing she does is make you take off the jacket and drape it over your shoulders like a cape.

“Good. Now I just need you to stand here with your hands like that…. Yeah. And your leg is like that… Perfect! Don’t move!”

She dodges back the canvas and begins to paint.

You end up posing in those heels for over thirty minutes, spending most of that time sweating and shifting from foot to foot as your feet start to ache. She spends her time sitting, humming, painting, and checking her ipad until at last she stands up to pop a few pictures of you from different angles.

She checks the results with a satisfied smile. "Even better than I imagined."

"Can I see it?" You ask as you stretch your back. You’ve been arching it awkwardly to maintain the required power stance.

“Maybe later. Right now it’s time to hang out! Besides, I’m famished.”

You barely manage to keep your feet as she grabs your hand and drags you down the stairs.

“You know, I’ve always thought that the costumes we choose express some deep truth about our inner selves. Like for me, The Mad Hatter really understands what it’s like to be lost and misunderstood.”

“Do you feel lost and misunderstood?”

“Sometimes. Most people don’t really get me, but it doesn’t matter. I’ve got Silco and Sevika. And now I’ve got you!”

The bright smile she sends over her shoulder tugs at your heartstrings.

“And my costume?” You ask breathlessly. It’s difficult keeping up with her as she pulls you across the courtyard. Both the shoes and your tight dress are doing their best to keep you from moving quickly.

“What does it express about my inner self?”

“Well only you can answer that, toots.”

Nothing immediately comes to mind. You don’t think you struggle with unresolved anger issues, or have an innate desire to behead people who don’t let you win at sports. 

You’re still mulling over the question as you're pulled through the backdoor, blinking rapidly as your eyes adjust to the sudden change in light.

“I made sure we’re stocked up on snacks, and I’ve got a stack of movies a mile high we can choose from. We should be able to watch at least three before Sevika comes home and throws us out of the living room so she can watch the fights. Also, I wasn’t sure what you wanted for drinks so I had Tommy buy us the lot!”

“Tommy?”

“Dad’s driver. He’s a pretty normal dude, not like some of his bodyguards who can crush watermelons with their thighs.”

She releases your hand as soon as you enter the kitchen, but continues towards the door on the opposite side of the room.

“I’ll be right back. Help yourself to a drink from the fridge if you like!” 

You can hear her boots squeaking on the wooden floors as she disappears down the hall. 

The swift jog in heels has certainly raised your temperature, so as soon as you’ve caught your breath (and assured yourself that your ankles haven’t broken), you shed your coat on the nearest bar stool. The kitchen has a neat and tidy feel to it, and even from your position behind the marble topped island in the center of the room, you can tell it’s a well used part of the house.

You immediately head to the fridge to inspect the colorful papers that have been stuck to almost every inch of the stainless steel doors. It’s an adorable collection of animal drawings scribbled on everything from paper plates to receipt paper, and even a few important looking bills. One look at the scrawled signatures confirms your suspicions. They’re the works of a very young Jinx, and they’ve been carefully tacked up in order of the age at which she made them.

You tuck your hair behind your ear as you look from one drawing to the next, a strange ache building in your chest. 

You don’t know very much about this Silco, the father who keeps every drawing his daughter ever made and displays them proudly in the most communal place in the house. It makes you feel like you’re getting a peek at the man behind the curtain.

You doubt many people get to see this side of him.

You probably weren’t supposed to see this side of him either.

You almost bite your lip before you remember you’re wearing lipstick. 

You blindly reach into the fridge to take your mind off the sudden nervous fluttering in your stomach. It takes you a few seconds of staring at the label to realize you've grabbed a small carton of milk. The door is stocked full of them, along with a large selection of juices. On the bottom shelf are several different kinds of beers and sparkling wines (all with The Last Drop label, you notice), along with a nice stock of cold brews. 

Well you certainly could use more energy if you’re going to keep up with Jinx.

You pull out one that’s mocha flavored and settle back against the counter. The only way to keep your lipstick from smudging is to tilt your head back to pour the drink fountain style into your mouth, and you can just hear the sound of footsteps coming back up the hall as you lower your head to swallow.

A figure steps into the room, and your stomach swoops. 

It's not Jinx.

You're not sure why you’re so surprised to see Silco. This is his house after all. Maybe it’s because of his extremely casual appearance. The tie is hanging loose around his neck and his fancy vest is unbuttoned, revealing an even leaner frame that you could have imagined.

He hasn’t seemed to notice you. In fact, he’s completely distracted by whatever he’s doing with his phone as he heads towards the opposite end of the island. He sets a good sized pencil case on the bar stool you've set your coat over before leaning forward with his elbows perched on the counter. 

Your pulse is racing wildly. 

Obviously you should let him know you’re there, and sooner rather than later. But you’re still deciding exactly how to reveal your presence in the room when he stills.

Ever so slowly he sets down his phone and touches the edge of your blazer with two long, slender fingers.

He tilts his head. “Were you ever going to announce yourself, or were you simply waiting to be acknowledged?”

You blink. Did he know it was you?

How did he know it was you?

“I was going to say something eventually.”

“When, exactly?”

“I was still working that part out,” You concede. 

“Hm,” He clasps his hands together, his eyes now focused on the wall in front of him.

“I guess you just surprised me.”

“This is my house. Is it so surprising that I’d be here?”

The flush is involuntary. “Well no, but I was expecting to see Jinx, and when I realized it was you…”

“You were disappointed?”

“No, definitely not!”

The words slip out just a little too emphatically. He clearly notices because a small smirk tilts up the corner of his mouth as he turns his head to look at you. 

It’s difficult to gauge his expression as he takes in your appearance. The smile disappears, but before it sinks back into its usual, carefully maintained neutrality, you notice his eye flickers, and his jaw clenches. 

You have no idea what it means, but it’s enough to send your stomach butterflies into a tizzy.

“You never sent me your notes on Shimmer,” He says at last. 

You fold your hands around the cold brew bottle to hide their fidgeting. “No, I didn’t. I was going to send it tonight, after I got home.”

“Since we’re both here, I see no need for that.”

“Oh,” you say into an awkward pause.

It's clear he's ready to get into things right away.

Yet you're still feeling a bit flustered.

“Um, yeah. Alright. Well would you like anything to drink before I start or…?”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

“Are you sure? Because I’m already over here, and um... It looks like you’ve got a big selection. Of milks and juices, specifically. There’s even V8, if you like to pretend that tomatoes are a fruit.”

His right brow arches upward.

You're nervous babbling, but there's nothing you can do to stop it. 

“What about hot tea? Or coffee? You’ve got a Keurig so I’m sure you’ve got some of that stuff around here somewhere.”

“I suppose I’ll take the chamomile.”

“Awesome. And where exactly can I find the mugs and tea?”

He nods behind you.

The heels give you just enough extra height to reach everything without too much trouble (though you are conscious of the fact that your backside is rather prominently sticking out as you stretch into the cupboard).

There’s quite a selection of teas, but they’re very well ordered so it takes you no time at all to find the chamomile. As for mugs, the collection is uninspiring, except that you see a flash of some brightly colored cup in the back. After a short excavation you’re rewarded with the most adorable mug in the world. It’s obviously another one of Jinx’s masterpieces, with a monkey’s face on one side, and its curling tail on the other. Miscellaneous colored scribbles fill in the blanks. 

You drop the sachet in and fill the mug with water from the Keurig.

“Do you always bully people into letting you serve them in their own home?”

“Nope, you’re the lucky winner. And my boss, so you’d have to pay me $18.50 an hour to serve anybody else.” 

His throaty chuckle is extremely satisfactory.

As soon as the mug’s filled, you attempt a walk around the island. It takes a lot of concentration to keep from spilling and tripping at the same time, so it isn’t until you’ve safely settled the mug in front of him that you feel like you can relax.

“Here you are.”

“Service with a smile. That’s rare these days.”

“Oh it’s always my pleasure to serve you, sir.”

“I suppose you’re just saying that so I’ll give you a tip.”

“Of course not. I'm saying it so you'll give me a very good tip. I’ve seen your house now, so I know you’re good for it.”

His mouth tilts into a smirk.

You grin. “Of course it doesn’t have to be money. If you’ve got any really good nuggets of wisdom you’d like to share instead, I’ll take those too.”

He leans back against the counter and drops his eyes to the mug in his hand. “I might have one of those for you.”

“Fire away.”

“Very well. I wouldn’t make a habit out of sneaking up on me if I were you.”

Your smile falters.

"Although I was informed that you would be here today I wasn't expecting you in the house," He starts swirling the teabag. “And I don’t believe a man should be held responsible for his actions when he's been ambushed in his own home. Especially when the woman doing the ambushing is wearing such a dangerous dress. Don't you agree?”

His eyes appear to drag up your body, setting you on fire before rising to glare into yours.

He seems to be waiting for a reply, but you have no idea what to say under such a pining stare.

“What are you supposed to be?”

You swallow hard. “Oh, um… The Queen of Hearts. I was modeling for Jinx’s new painting.” 

“That explains the crown.”

“Oh!” Your hand shoots up to the top of your head, and you almost stab yourself on the points.

You forgot you were wearing it.

Heat floods your cheeks, and you pace a few steps away under the guise of removing it, grateful for any excuse to put distance between you. You set in on the counter and do your best to flatten the hairs you know were pulled up by the headpiece.

“Well I umm... I can’t promise not to dress dangerously, but next time I come I’ll make sure to announce myself every time I enter a new room.”

“Do you anticipate there being a next time?”

You frown as you fiddle with the cold brew in your hands. “I don’t know. It’s your house, so I guess that depends on you.”

“Yes. I suppose it does, doesn’t it?”

He says the last part almost to himself.

In the silence that follows, you realize just how tired you are. This day has been one long, mentally tough slog after another, and you were actually looking forward to this fun, frivolous evening with Jinx before Silco showed up and ruined it.

Well, maybe it’s not all his fault that you’re feeling this way. You were the one who stayed up till 2am stalking and texting him, leading to a less than excellent 3 hours of sleep.

But still.

What gave him the right to show up looking so good, then act like such a fractious ass?

You gently rub at your temples as they throb.

This entire interaction has been an emotional roller coaster you didn't ask for, and quite frankly, you’re ready for it to be done. And since it looks like Jinx isn’t going to come to your rescue anytime soon, it’ll be up to you to get things back on track.

For your own sanity if for nothing else.

Screw the lipstick.

You throw your head back and drink the entire cold brew in several deep chugs. 

“So you want to know what we liked about Shimmer?” You ask when you finally resurface for air.

“At your leisure.”

“Great," You spin around to face him once more. He's exactly where you left him, still watching you.

You steel your courage. "Well Allie says it had a nice mouthfeel. She mentioned being able to taste notes of cherry and mint, and something about mushrooms at the end.”

“Her palette is quite refined.”

“So I’ve heard.”

It’s probably just a placebo effect, but you swear you can already feel the caffeine working through your system, softening the edges of your headache.

“And you were right, she liked it better than the one I bought for her. She drained the whole bottle in under half an hour.”

“Well I’m in the business of knowing what people want," He tilts his head to the side. “But what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Did you enjoy it?”

“You might say my palette isn’t nearly as refined as Allie’s, but I thought it was nice.”

“Hm. Sevika will be glad to hear it. I know she values your opinion.”

You squint at him.

Sevika? Which Sevika? Certainly not the one you talked to this morning who told you that it was Silco’s job to take care of the feedback in regards to Shimmer. 

You can still hear her laugh. 

“That sneaky son of a bitch.”

What did she mean?

The wheels in your mind start to turn. 

Sevika thinks Silco is up to something. Was it strange for him to give out his personal card? You don’t think so. After all, he did make you manager of his coffee shop. Maybe all his talk about Shimmer was some trumped up excuse to get to know you better before you take over for Sevika.

He certainly seems to be interested, and full of questions.

But even if that was true, then why lie about it being Sevika’s idea in the first place, especially when he could just ask you for your thoughts outright?

It doesn’t make any sense

“You know it’s funny,” You say at last. “When I talked to Sevika this morning I got the impression that she wasn’t interested in what I had to say. She said you were taking care of the feedback for beta tasting.”

“Is that right?” 

“Yep.”

”A simple misunderstanding. Perhaps I failed to make her responsibilities clear.”

”Huh. Well you should probably get on that. Before I left, she mentioned that she thought you were up to something.”

“Did she.”

You nod slowly, observing his reaction. Nothing much seems to change except for a subtle, wary look in his eye.

”I thought you should know. I know first hand that miscommunication can lead to all kinds of trouble.”

“I appreciate your concern.”

He’s still slouching against the counter and appears to be relaxed, but his twitching hands betray him.

You’re not really in the mood to play any mind games, but there’s something inside you that refuses to give this up. You wonder what it would take to make him answer you honestly.

Maybe it’s time to take a page out of your book, Silco J. Spisak.

You’re not the most intimidating person, but you are wearing heels. And thanks to your mother, you know a thing or two about psychology. If you were to take just a few more steps forward, he’d be forced to tilt his head up to look up at you to avoid staring at your chest. Not that you have anything spectacular going on there, but you’re pretty sure even a stubborn man like him wouldn’t go so far as to risk overtly staring.

He watches you take a long, slow step forward, then another.

Before you can finish taking your third, he says, very quietly, “Careful now.”

“Of what?”

“You may enjoy playing with fire, but one day you're going to get burned.”

The glint in his eye makes your heart pound in a way that has nothing to do with the cold brew you just chugged.

“Is that a threat?” You ask lightly.

”Consider it fair warning.”

“Does that usually deter people?”

“All but the very foolish, or the incredibly brave.”

You raise your chin. “And which one would you consider me?”

”You don’t strike me as a fool, but that streak of stubborn resolve may be your downfall.”

“Something your daughter and I have in common, I suppose.”

“Does it bother you that I compare you to my daughter?”

“I don’t know, did it bother you when I compared you to my father?”

He blinks slowly before unfolding himself to his full height, taking his own long swagger forward until you're practically eye to eye.

You’re feeling a bit cowed by his sudden proximity, and your heart hasn't stopped pounding, but you refuse to look away as he regards you beneath that darkened brow in silence.

“You know,” He says in a dangerously silken voice. “It isn’t often that I’m surprised, yet you continually put me off my guard. Any guess as to why that is?”

“I... I suppose God thought you needed someone to keep you on your toes.”

“Or to be my perfect foil.” 

“I don't know what that means.”

“Neither do I.”

You freeze as he leans forward, his warm breath caresses your cheek. Electric skitters dance across your skin as he whispers, “But I intend to find out.”

Chapter Text

Monday October 4, Pt. 2

Silco pulls back just far enough to catch your eye. The glowing ember intensifies, and you find yourself short of breath, and out of courage. You lean back, but bump into the bar chair behind you. Yet before you can shift around it, his hand settles on it's cushioned back, forcing you to shuffle towards the island to avoid his touch.

He unsettles you further by bracing his other hand on the counter to your left.

He's caught you in a trap.

Your breathing is disconcertingly shallow, and your view consists of nothing but the sly smile growing on his face. 

Whatever game he’s playing at, he clearly thinks he’s won. 

What game are we playing?

You can't answer that yet, especially considering how fast your heart’s beating.

But Jinx’s words filter through your muddled thoughts:

“The costumes we choose express some deep truth about our inner selves.”

You picked the queen of hearts. For what reason you’re still not entirely sure, but one thing seems absolutely certain: The queen of hearts would not bow gracefully out of a game she’d chosen to engage in. It’s true you didn’t formally agree to play in this one, but still…

The man is clearly used to having his way. You just have to decide if you’re going to let him, or try to make a fight of it yourself.

The way things stand right now, with him so close, it's difficult to think about fighting. But you straighten your spine as much as you can and meet Silco’s gaze head on.

“Okay, don’t play with fire. Lesson learned.”

“Too late for that now," He looks you over so slowly that your face begins to burn. "Like Icarus, you’ll have to suffer the consequences of your actions.”

“That sounds serious," You manage to say.

“I simply wish you to understand who you’re dealing with.”

“And who am I dealing with, Lieutenant Spisak?”

Surprise flashes across his face, but he recovers quickly.

“You’ve done your research.”

“Some. Enough to wonder who you really are.”

“Like many others, I am whoever I must be in order to survive.”

“And who are you right now?”

“Who do you think I am?”

“I’m not sure,” you tap his chest as you whisper. “But I intend to find out.”

He huffs out a small breath, filling the air between you with spicy tobacco. “You enjoy using my own words against me.”

“Words are weapons, as they say.” 

“Then I suppose I’ll need to be more careful with mine in the future.”

“More careful? I don’t think I’ve met a more careful man than you in my life.”

“Is that right?”

He shifts, bringing his body even closer to yours.

You’re on fire, now, and overcome by a sudden urge. You raise your right hand to lightly touch his temple. He stiffens, eyes fixed on your face as you float your fingers along the puckered edges of his scars down to the corner of his ruined eye. 

“What happened to you?”

“I wasn’t careful.”

”Hm.”

Silence descends.

Silco is still as stone as your fingers trace a path to his cheekbone. His glowing iris darts back and forth as you consider the almost reptilian texture of his skin. You're just about to reach the corner of his mouth when he grabs your wrist in a sudden, vice-like grip.

You stare into his blazing eyes in shock.

“That’s quite enough.”

I got carried away, you think, and the thought is quickly followed by, but he started it!

For reasons unknown you're desperately tempted to smile, but he's tense, and something tells you that to do so would be terribly unwise. 

Unwise, or dangerous?

And if dangerous, then to who?

A tantalizing question. You’re still contemplating if you want to continue playing with fire when a sing-song voice calls from somewhere deep in the house:

“Oh daddy, where art thou?”

The effect of Jinx’s voice on Silco is immediate. 

He releases you so quickly, it’s as if you've burned him. He looks unsettled, chest heaving as he backs away, pushing fingers through his hair. Slim fingers brush the front of his shirt, then zips towards the knot of his tie, which he tugs towards his neck. One movement after another, be pulls himself together into the unflappable boss.

Almost.

There's a hint of stiffness about his shoulders as he puts a more appropriate, professional distance between you.

You remain where you are, slumped against the island, and appreciate how much easier it is for you to breath. You catch sight of your own appearance in a nearby mirror, and despite your overly pink cheeks, you appear shockingly calm. 

He won round one, but you won round two. 

You wonder just how long this game, or private battle, will last.

And who exactly will be the casualties?

Probably just you.

Your hand is shaking slightly as you turn to grab the coat on the chair, which is when you hear the rattle of the the case Silco left behind. Now that you see it up close, it looks more like a medical box than a pencil case. You hardly have time to do more than pick it up off the seat before Silco reaches across you to pluck it from your grasp.

“We mustn’t touch what isn’t ours.”

“Funny, that rule doesn’t seem to apply to me. Or do you consider people an exception?”

His face blanches, then reddens. 

“Sometimes exceptions must be made in order to get what we want. At least, that’s what I’ve always believed."

You continue to hold his gaze, taking a moment to process his words as he continues in a stilted voice.

"I came from a world where there was never enough to go around. I learned from a young age that... power. Real power. Doesn’t come to those who were born strongest, or fastest, or smartest. It comes to those who will do anything to achieve it. Sometimes I still think I’m fighting that war.”

There’s a proud, though remorseful look in his eye as he says, “Forgive me.”

You’re tempted to say, “No, it’s fine, I really don't mind. I’m sorry for bringing it up”.

Instead you answer with a slow nod. “Maybe it’s time to call a truce?”

“As you wish.”

That day, she was amazed to discover that when he was saying "As you wish", what he meant was, "I love you."

You have to bite back a sudden wild, giddy smile. 

The action draws his eyes to your lips, where they linger for a heartbeat too long. 

He lowers his voice. “Of course, the full value of this life of ours is a very enjoyable fight, but a very miserable truce. Wouldn’t you agree?”

The intensity in his eyes steals your breath away.

”I… I wouldn't call it miserable.”

”Perhaps it is too strong a word,” he concedes, slipping his hands in his pockets. “But it would certainly make this much less… amusing.”

This? 

But what is this?

You swallow hard and whisper. “Yeah. A lot less.”

You can feel your cheeks heating as you stare into his growing, all-seeing gaze.

“Caught you!” Jinx shouts gleefully.

This time you both jerk apart.

Your face is so hot it has to be glowing like Rudolph's nose.

“Jinx!” Silco snarls. “Where have you been?”

“Well I went to grab some blankets from my room for the movie, then I got distracted by TikTok, as you do.”

“You know how I feel about leaving guests in our house unattended.”

“But she wasn’t unattended, she had you! And it seems to me like you had everything under control.”

You look over your shoulder in time to see her send her father an exaggerated wink.

His voice is vibrating with barely repressed anger as he turns towards you and says, “If you don’t mind, I need a moment alone with my daughter. The living room is just through there.”

“Yeah, of course.”

You duck your head and head for the door, even though you can feel Jinx trying to catch your eye.

“I’m sorry if I harshed your vibe, but I gotta give it to you pops. You certainly don’t waste any time making your move.”

“Jinx!”

His voice is slightly horrified.

You can’t leave the room fast enough.

It takes you almost a full hour and a half to recover from your embarrassment. 

It doesn’t help that Jinx keeps grinning wolfishly and wiggling her eyebrows at you whenever you accidentally catch her gaze over the popcorn bowl. Whatever words passed between her and Silco in the kitchen clearly didn't leave a lasting impression. You find yourself wishing the night would finally be over so you can go home and scream into your pillow for an hour.

Your one consolation is that you’re finally out of that stupid (dangerous) dress and back in your comfortable (safe) graphic tee and leggings. At least now, if you have to face Silco again, it’ll be with a clean face, a loose shirt, and a shield consisting of a mountain of blankets. 

It should be enough for you to fake feeling normal, anyway.

The movie hasn't been playing for very long when the back door slams. Jinx startles, and makes a dive for the coffee table. Your eyebrows shoot upward as she shoves the remote into the cushion behind her, and goes back to staring, fascinated, at the screen.

Sevika stomps in moments later and looks around with narrowed eyes.

“Jinx.”

“Yes Vik?”

The look on her face is far too innocent to be convincing.

“Where is it?”

“Where’s what?”

Sevika scowls. “Don’t make me look for it. I promise I’ll make it a painful experience.”

“I have no idea what you’re-”

She shrieks as Sevika grabs her, and you watch with horrified fascination as the woman heaves the flailing girl across the couch. However Jinx isn’t giving up so easily. She dives back towards the cushion and grapples with the black remote poking up from between the cushions. A wrestling match occurs, but in the end Jinx moans pitifully as Sevika pulls away with the remote held triumphantly above her head.

“Please don’t turn on the fights yet!” The girl begs. “We barely just started watching movies!”

Sevika drops heavily into the well worn red chair next to you, “Yeah? I thought you two have been at this all day.”

“Well we got a late start because I was painting, and then she and Silco-”

“Got to talking!” 

Sevika’s eyebrows shoot upward at your interruption, so you hurry to add.

“Because Jinx went upstairs and got lost scrolling on TikTok.”

“I told you that app is going to rot your brain.”

Before the irate girl can defend herself, or try to incriminate you and Silco to Sevika (which — judging by the mutinous look on her face — seems more likely), you hurry to add, “Do you have any favorite Halloween movies?”

“Sure. Rocky Horror Picture Show.”

“But we’ve already watched that a thousand times!”

“What about Stranger Things?" You ask.

Jinx perks up. “I've really wanted to try it! But nobody will watch it with me.”

She looks pointedly at Sevika, who heaves a huge sigh as she rolls her eyes. “Fine. But I gotta get out of these clothes and shower first.”

Jinx squeals.

"I think you’ll like it," you say.

“If I don’t, I’ll force you to scrub the drain beneath the ice machine with your bare hands.” She gets to her feet and tosses the remote back to Jinx. “I’m starving, so dinner has to happen first.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it covered! I was gonna order pizza.”

“You know the rules. No pineapple.”

“Try before you deny.”

They stare at you in confusion, and you release a chuckle. “Sorry. You’ll get it later.”

After Sevika leaves Jinx jumps to her feet. “I’m gonna ask Tommy if he’ll go get it for us. Oh Tooooommmmmy!”

She flounces from the room, leaving you cocooned alone on the couch with nothing but a green goblin on the TV for company. You decide it’s time for a bathroom break, and shed the blankets to head to the ornate bathroom across the hall. When you’re finished you meander back to the kitchen, where you hear Jinx chattering away, talking about why Pizza Hut is superior to Papa Johns. You spy her through the doorway sitting not on a barstool, but on the bar itself. Her bare feet are swinging back and forth as she idly plays with the tips of her braids. 

“It’s not just about the crust, but the cheese to sauce ratio. I mean you have to have enough sauce so that each bite isn’t dry, and the cheese needs to be real enough to have that little string that stretches from the slice to your mouth.”

“You seem to have put a lot of thought into this.”

The voice is unfamiliar, but as you step through the doorway you recognize it's owner as Silco’s driver. He’s a middle aged, dark skinned man in a sharp suit, and he’s leaning up against the counter next to Jinx with an expression of rapt interest. 

“Uh huh, and Ekko will back me up. We each wrote a research paper about it back in junior high. Pizza Hut has superior pizza.”

“I might have to run an experiment of my own one of these days to test your theory.”

“You should! And you could bring the pizzas here so we can talk about it. You could bring Ekko too, if you want. If he isn’t at some rally or protest or something.”

“Well there’s a lot going on at ZCC campus, and you know my boy. He’s always gotta be all up in the middle of it.”

She grins. “Yeah.”

There’s something about her smile that makes you think her interest in Ekko is more than casual. 

“To tell you the truth, your daddy probably sees more of my son than I do these days.”

The man glances towards you when you step further through the door.

He sends you a friendly nod. “Well if it isn’t Ms. Bob Ross herself.”

You grin awkwardly. “Hello. Tommy, is it?”

“That’s right.”

“Wait, you two know each other?”

“Sure,” The man says, flashing pearly white teeth. “We met a few days ago. She was working late, and your daddy had me drive her to her car. And it was a good thing too. Those pajamas would have been soaked before you got down the street.”

“Pajamas?” Jinx asks so impishly that you wish you could sink into the floor.

“Sevika called me in last minute,” You reply faintly. “I thought I was going to be alone or I would have made way more of an effort to be professional.”

Jinx looks like Christmas came early.

Tommy chuckles as he pushes off the bar. “Silco’s no fool. Pajamas or no, he can tell a good investment when he sees one.”

You’ve never been called a good investment before.

Is that all Silco sees in you?

“I should probably head out if you want those pies within the next half hour. Three medium pizzas, cheese, meat lovers, and veggie, right?”

“Yep! And remember to ask for no olives because — ”

“Your daddy hates them. Don't worry, I got it.”

 He heads towards the backdoor with a wave.

“Ekko?” You say after he's gone.

“Tommy’s son. I grew up with him, but we never see each other anymore. He’s really into the environment and student rights and protests and stuff. I’ve been busy with my art, and now that I’ve got the show coming up….”

She shrugs.

You can tell she’s trying to sound nonchalant, but unlike her father, her emotions are written clearly across her face. 

“Childhood friends huh? That can be a tough relationship to navigate.”

Her nod is emphatic. “It totally is! We used to do everything together, and then we got to school and decided to pursue totally different things, and then Silco became the head of the ZCC board and Ekko is always causing trouble.”

The idea seems to bring her a small amount of pride.

“Have you tried to hang out outside of school?”

“Not really. I mean I’ve thought about it, but he’s busy and I don’t want to be a bother.”

“True friends are never a bother. Have you considered inviting him to your show?”

Her eyes light up. “I did, but then I wasn't sure if he would be interested in coming. But do you think I should?”

"He's your friend. I think he'd come if you asked him."

"That makes sense," Her phone is in her hand in seconds, and her fingers start flying across the keyboard. “I mean he can’t so no when I’ve asked him so especially. Right?”

“Yeah."

Minutes later she slips her phone into her pocket, her spirits obviously more buoyant.

She grabs a nearby bottle of chocolate milk. “I can’t believe Sevika actually agreed to watch the show. She never wants to do anything with me.”

“Something tells me you guys have pretty different tastes in movies.”

“Well we do agree on some things, like Nightmare Before Christmas and Dr. Horrible's Sing Along Blog.”

“Sevika likes musicals?”

“Are you kidding me? She’s wild about them! Don’t tell her I said anything, but she’s got an amazing voice. She could be Adele, if Adele sang about wanting to murder people instead of falling in love with them.”

You laugh.

After chugging the milk she pulls a black cellphone across the counter, and immediately gets lost scrolling. You trail back to the fridge and grab a water. Ten minutes later Sevika joins you in the kitchen, and for the first time since you’ve known her, her chin length hair is down and her prosthetic arm is disconnected. She’s also wearing casual jeans and a Black Sabbath tee. 

She reaches into the fridge and pulls out a beer.

“So, you and Silco had a talk.”

You nod, your eyes darting momentarily towards Jinx, but she’s still fully absorbed by something on the phone.

“He didn’t happen to bring up the fact that you’ll need a code word to get into The Last Drop, did he?”

You shake your head.

“Well the bouncer won’t let you through without it. This week we’re being cutesy and the code word’s Shimmer, since we’re launching the bottles with the new labels and all. My office is on the second floor, overlooking the street. Nobody should bother you in there, not even the boss.”

“Oh?”

“He’s going on a business trip to Piltover for a few days.”

“Oh.”

“No need to sound so disappointed,” Jinx says without looking up. “He’ll probably text you. You’re pinned to his favorites already. See?”

She turns the phone around, and you realize after a moment that the cell isn’t hers.

You see your name, and your mind starts buzzing. You have no idea what it’s supposed to mean.

Sevika frowns. “Did you steal your dad’s phone again?”

“No, this time he left it on the counter, so I figured it was fair game.” 

“You know how mad he gets when you snoop through his stuff.”

“You’re no fun.”

“Hey, I’m just saying. You can do whatever the hell you want, it’s no skin off my hide.”

Jinx sighs dramatically. “Alright, I’ll go give it to him.”

“Give me what?”

“Hello daddy! I was just about to bring you your phone.”

You gasp as Jinx hurls it at her father from across the room. But Silco has no problem catching it.

He looks at it with his eyebrows furrowed. “How long have you had this?”

“Not very long. Just a few minutes. I found it on the counter, which is really weird because you’re normally like, really protective of your phone. You must have been super distracted earlier.”

“You’re treading a thin line today, Jinx. I wouldn’t recommend walking it any further.”

“But I haven’t said anything!”

She mopes at Silco’s warning look.

Sevika looks back and forth between the three of you, looking extremely entertained.

“Well hell, what did I miss?”

“Nothing of consequence.”

“It sure doesn’t look like nothing. Our girl over there is blushing like a virgin in a stripclub.”

He spares you a look for the first time since he’s entered the room. 

You’re desperately struggling to maintain your cool.

His look is calculating before he looks away, apparently bored. “And since when have you been invested in my personal life, Sevika?”

“Since it finally got interesting. Is it true you gave her your personal card?”

“That’s none of your concern.”

She snorts. “I’m sorry, not my concern? Have you forgotten that I’m your bodyguard? Anybody you invite into your life, I’ve got a right to know about.”

Bodyguard?

That’s certainly news to you, though it does explain why she often cuts out of work early to meet Silco at certain events.

“I didn’t deem it necessary to inform you I was in communication with the woman who is soon to become the manager of one of my businesses,” He replies coolly. “Especially when she’s been working beneath you as an employee for several years, and has already gone through screening.”

She grunts, and you can’t tell if that means she’s convinced or not.

“You’re a hard man to work for, you know that?”

“And I suppose you think you’re a model employee?”

“I sure as hell hope not. That’s what miss perfect over there is for.”

There’s a ghost of a smile on his face when he answers, “Indeed.”

It’s at that moment that Tommy comes back through the door carrying the pizzas. The smell of warm cheese and toasted bread lures everyone to the table, and none of the women are shy about digging in.

“So dad, are you gonna watch Stranger Things with us?” Jinx asks as she dumps three different packages of parmesan cheese onto one slice of cheese pizza.

“I have no idea what that is.”

The girl looks at you with a pleading look in her eye.

You cover your mouth to hide the mouthful of veggie pizza you’ve just bitten off, mumbling. “It’s kind of hard to explain. It’s a science fiction horror story set in the 80s. It’s got a little bit of everything, mystery, romance, gore, suspense. It’s one of my favorite shows actually.”

“Really.”

“Come on, be a good sport Spisak.” Sevika says around a mouthful of meat lovers (which she doesn’t bother to cover with a hand). 

“Yeah!” Jinx chimes in. “You’ve been upstairs working all day. Just watch the first episode with us, and if you hate it you can leave. Please daddy?”

The puppy dog eyes she sends her father should have melted even the iciest heart.

He still seems unsure.

“Come on toots, tell him! He’ll listen to you!”

You choke on the cheese as you swallow. “I don’t know about that. I don’t think anyone could convince your dad to do something he doesn’t want to do.”

You sneak a look at him, but he steadfastly refuses to meet your gaze.

“What does Doctor Singed like to say, dad? ‘ Nature has made us intolerant to change, but we have the capacity to change our nature ’ ? ”

He heaves a heavy sigh. “I suppose there’s no harm in taking a break.”

“Yay!”

Chapter Text

Monday October 4, Pt. 3 (Time For Stranger Things)

Jinx seems to think that the longer she takes to eat, the less likely Silco is to keep his word. She stuffs the rest of the slice into her mouth and chews madly as she tugs him from the room. Sevika swaggers after them, snagging the entire box of meat lovers as she calls over her shoulder,

“Bring my beer, will you?”

You gather your plate and the bottle before noticing Tommy standing at the island, grinning. 

“What are you smiling at?”

“I’m glad you convinced Silco to join the festivities. His family doesn’t do much together these days.”

“I can’t really take the credit. All I did was make a suggestion and Jinx did the rest.”

“Who would have figured it’d take Stranger Things to bring them all together, huh?”

Somehow, it made complete and total sense.

You smile. “Are you going to watch it with us?”

“Not today. I’m technically clocked out, and if I get home in the next half hour I might actually get to see my son before I leave to drive Silco for the week.”

“Your son’s name is Ekko, right?”

“That’s right.”

“He seems to be very important to Jinx.”

He shares your knowing look. “The two of them might actually manage to get somewhere, if my son wasn’t so blind,” He makes a disbelieving sound. “Love never is as straightforward as it seems, is it?”

“No,” You reply, your eyes automatically listing towards the living room. “Never.”

After a few moments of silence you turn back with a smile. “So I guess I’ll see you around?”

“I sure hope so. You’re good for this family, you know.” 

“You think?” You ask in what you hope is a casual tone of voice.

“Absolutely. I’ve been around for a while now, so I know how they operate. Jinx’s unpredictability makes it difficult for her to make friends, let alone keep ‘em, so the fact that she’s invited you into her life this quickly means she trusts you. And she don’t give her trust easily, believe you me.”

This news isn’t really surprising, considering who her father is.

“Now her daddy, he’s another story.” 

You try hard not to fidget under his strangely all-knowing gaze. 

“Silco’s a careful, exacting man. I’ve long thought he’s needed someone in his life who could shake things up a bit, and these last few days he’s been more on edge than I’ve seen him in a long time.”

“And on edge is a good thing?”

“There’s nothing better. It means he’s come up against a force of equal strength to himself, and it’s stumped him. That doesn’t happen too often, so I think that’s why he’s taking his time trying to puzzle you out.”

Puzzle you out. 

It would be a whole lot easier if he just handed you a questionnaire so you could fill in the blanks, and avoid getting tangled up in the unspoken angst of your emotions.

He tosses his plate in the trash and doffs his hat. “He’s also passed you the reins to one of his businesses, and that’s not the kind of decision he makes lightly. So keep doing what you do Miss Bob Ross, and who knows? You might just make a good, honest man of Silco one of these days.”

Your smile falters as he winks then leaves you standing alone in the kitchen. He clearly meant his words to be taken as a compliment, but all they’ve done is create chaos. Skepticism wars with hope and disappointment, creating a confusing mess inside your head.

This whole time you’d assumed (or hoped) that Silco was flirting with you, but what if you’d read him wrong? What if, when he invaded your space, asked you prying questions, apparently interested in you — he was simply interested in finding out what made you tick? Using ploys to try and figure you out before he made you a manager?

If that’s true, then he’s using very unorthodox methods.

You picture his reaction to your fingers tracing along his scars. The panic in his eyes, his tight grip on your wrist.

“That’s quite enough.”

You bury your face in your hands and repress a groan. 

That had definitely crossed a line, somewhere.

But he'd invited it!

Hadn’t you told yourself a few days ago, in the shop, that it was stupid to fall for your boss?

Why didn’t you listen? 

You’ve known him for a sum total of 5 days. Though you might not wear your heart on your sleeve like your sister or Jinx, it’s probably obvious to a man like Silco that you’re falling for him. After all, every interaction you’ve had with him so far has ended with you flirting and blushing and stammering like an idiot.

Come on, you’re smarter than this!

At least you have one thing in your favor. 

He can’t possibly know you well enough to realize just how hard you’ve fallen.

“Yo, where’s my beer?” Sevika hollars.

“We’re going to start the show without you if you don’t hurry up!” Jinx shouts immediately after.

You suck in a shaky breath and rub at the strange hollow that’s settled in your chest. 

One more hour. That’s how much longer you have to suffer through being in the same room with him, then you can go to your car and consider whether or not you want to succumb to an existential crisis on the way home. For now, it’s time to be an adult and suck it up for the sake of your new friend. 

There are worse ways to bury your sorrows than in the synth pop beats of Stranger Things.

You paste on a smile and head to the living room.

Like a bad habit, your eyes flicker towards Silco as soon as you step across the carpet. He’s sitting in the second of two armchairs which directly faces the TV. He has one leg crossed over the other, his deeply lined face reflecting the glow of his phone screen as he scrolls through who knows what - probably work emails or reports. 

He looks more at ease than you’ve ever seen him.

Or maybe he's just bored.

Sevika’s kicking back in the red recliner next to him, a half empty pizza box on her lap and a half eaten slice in her hand.

“What the hell took you so long?”

“Sorry, I was just talking to Tommy.”

“Well it must have been a pretty damn interesting conversation.”

“It was definitely an enlightening one.” 

You don’t think you’re imagining the way Silco’s eyes narrow as they rise from his phone, and watch you hand Sevika her beer. You can also feel them track your progress to the sofa. You drop down next to Jinx, who’s just about coming unglued in her seat, and tuck your legs up against your chest.

“Go ahead and press play. I’m ready.”

She lunges over the arm of the sofa to flick off the lights while you settle more comfortably against the cushions and drape a blanket over your lap. Moments later she leans back and makes herself at home against your legs, stuffing her face with candy from one of the many bowls gracing the coffee table.

Only further proving Tommy’s point.

Maybe you are good for this family.

Well, you’re good for Jinx, anyway. And Sevika seems pretty comfortable with you now. But as for Silco…

It isn’t until the room comes alive with chirping crickets and the eerie sounds of nature that you sense his eyes shift towards the television and remain there.

You try to focus on the white words filling the screen, but even without him staring at you, Silco’s presence dominates your fractured attention. You wish you understood how to quantify your relationship with him. It seemed more than casual, but it was a far cry from professional, too, which begged the question:

What am I to you?

You peek over your shoulder at the armchairs. In the glow of the tv it’s clear that Silco is only half invested in what’s happening on the screen, his long fingers still poised over his phone to scroll at a moment's notice.

Only a few hours ago he'd gazed at your lips with such an expression that you could have sworn he wanted to kiss you.

You sigh, and suddenly he's looking at you. Pretending that you weren’t staring at him is impossible, so you offer him a fleeting smile before turning your head to look back at the screen.

Of course, that almost kiss could have been nothing more than your imagination. 

But it didn’t feel like a game to me. 

You bite the inside of your cheek as strobing lights fill the room. Jinx hardly even reacts to the jump scare as a man in a lab coat bursts through the door to a blaring alarm.

Sevika, on the other hand, swears loudly.

Your time in the Piltover corporate world taught you many things, but none of your epiphanies were greater than the realization that you needed to learn how to hold personal boundaries.

Jeremiah, your manager at the firm, swims into your mind with unwelcome clarity. He was like Silco: older, mysterious, and though he was much less brooding, he'd held a sway over you that didn’t make any logical sense. Your time as his assistant had been absolute hell, and most of it had been your own fault. It’s true that the first time he’d taken credit for your work, it was shame on him. But the second, third, fourth, fifth…?

You’d kind of known that he was a dirtbag from the beginning, but you’d still allowed him to take advantage of you because of your stupid, stupid crush. 

This situation with Silco is different, of course. For one, he hasn’t tried to take advantage of your time or talents, and two, he’s clearly not a dirtbag. But this unspoken thing between you, this teetering on the edge of not knowing whether that spark you feel is just in your imagination...

Well, it’s not really working for you.

You figure it might be time to rip off the bandaid and learn the truth so you can either move on, or move forward. But the only way to do that is to be honest, and to ask him for honesty in return.

If only the idea of broaching the subject with him face to face wasn’t so utterly terrifying.

“Omg that was so much better than I could have imagined!”

Jinx dances around her studio as you slowly repack your bag, and despite your exhaustion, you can’t help smiling at her unbridled enthusiasm.

You’d managed to suffer through the first half of the episode before realizing that you wouldn’t be able to watch another, and as soon as the credits rolled you’d made your apologies and excused yourself to gather your things. 

“You have to come back this week so we can finish watching it!”

“I’d love to.”

“What are you doing tomorrow?”

You’re not exactly sure when Silco’s leaving, so you decide to play it safe.

“I have training to do tomorrow. How's Wednesday sound?”

“Well…”

The idea of waiting is clearly killing her. In fact, you’re almost sure that the moment you leave, she’ll want to binge the entire first season.

“Tell you what, why don’t you watch it if you have the time, and I’ll just pick up wherever you leave off?”

She grins. “Deal!”

As she starts making more unintelligible exclamations over the show, you heft your bag and begin your slog down the stairs. You’re halfway down when you notice an unnatural shape attached to the end of your car. After a moment you recognize that it’s Silco leaning against your trunk, apparently smoking.

And waiting for you.

You should have known he wouldn’t let you leave without getting in the last word. This had been quite the strange day for both of you.

Dread follows you the rest of the way across the courtyard. Jinx is switching between whistling and humming the theme for the opening credits as you round the side of the car to face him.

“Wasn’t that amazing dad?”

“It certainly has potential. But I wish to reserve my judgment for the time being.”

She gasps. “So you’re going to finish watching it?”

“Perhaps.”

She pumps her fist in the air and does a strange dance as she chants. “Yes yes yes!”

You forget yourself for a moment, and grin at Silco. He’s smiling faintly at his daughter, but when his eyes meet yours it fades. As he takes a slow drag on his cigar and lets out a thick stream of smoke, you’re struck by the weight of his stare.

It's that unspoken thing.

Your eyes slide away to watch Jinx as she paces and continues to ramble, heedless of whether or not anyone is paying attention.

“... This is probably going to change the trajectory of my art forever. There are like, so many new ideas flowing into my brain and if I don't go write them down right now I think I'm going to explode! Sorry dad, but it looks like you're going to have to get a goodnight kiss from someone else tonight."

She dashes towards the stairs and starts taking them two at a time as she calls over her shoulder. "Night toots!"

As the door slams behind her you hear Silco heave a heavy sigh.

“My daughter means well."

"I know."

"Subtlety has never been one her strengths.”

You fold your arms across your chest, more for the illusion of protection than warmth. 

"Yeah. But I understand that her feelings don’t reflect yours.”

“Hm."

You hear him take another drag on his cigar, but you still can't bring yourself to look at him. You focus instead on the lights in Jinx's studio, and the faint strains of music that definitely sound like something out of the 80's.

"You will be taking training courses this week, I understand.“

You nod. “In Sevika’s office. I think she said something about floppy discs.”

“I’m afraid the information on those discs will be rather outdated. I’d prefer it if you took an online course. All you’ll need is a security key to log in to the training program. I’ll email it to you before I leave tomorrow morning. However, I’ll expect you to have the entire course finished, and the test taken before I return on Friday. I’ll pay you for the hours you spend training, but I will only reimburse you for the price of the test if you pass on the first attempt.”

“That won’t be a problem. I’m good at taking tests.”

“I’m sure you are. You clearly have an excellent memory."

It’s the amusement in his voice that finally draws your attention back.

His chin is tilted upward as he blows smoke rings straight up into the air.

He really has a beautiful profile. 

Your eyes can’t help tracing the sharp lines of his forehead down to the tip of his nose, then to the base of his neck. In the security floodlights he appears like a half finished work of art, his head chiseled from marble by a skilled artist with very impatient hands. 

For the first time in years, you find your hand itching for a pencil and paper.

You wonder if he’s ever posed for one of Jinx’s pictures, or if she’s only ever included his eye.

“May I ask what you’re thinking of, when you look at me so intently?”

You start, then stumble over your own words. “Nothing! Or I mean nothing important. Just art, I guess. I was wondering if Jinx has ever asked you to pose for a painting or if she leaves you out of it…”

The corner of his mouth tilts upward. His red eye glows like a furnace, tendrils of smoke spilling out of the corner of his mouth in a way that reminds you of a wily, ancient dragon. 

“Never. Though this morning she did try to convince me that I would make an excellent Cheshire cat.”

Maybe it’s because you’re so tired, but you can’t repress a laugh at the thought of a frowning Silco dressed in a purple and pink striped onesie with a tail. Once the mental image takes hold there’s nothing you can do to stop the snort, and suddenly you’re hardly able to stand up straight for laughing. 

“I’m sorry,” You manage to gasp between giggles. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me…”

Tears are leaking from the corners of your eyes. You’re desperately in need of a tissue, and stumble towards the car. You might actually have slammed into the door if Silco’s hand hadn’t appeared at your elbow, steadying you.

“Th-thanks.”

“Anytime darling.”

Your eyes widen as you gape up at him. You can tell he realizes his little slip of the tongue seconds later, when his focus sharpens, and his hand momentarily tightens on your arm. 

There’s no mistaking the tension building in the air now.

If ever there was a perfect opportunity to ask him how he feels about you, it’s now.

Your heart is pounding so loudly in your ears you’re sure he can hear it too. Instead of laughter, you find yourself fighting to swallow back a sudden swell of nausea.

You can do this! 

“Silco?” You whisper.

“Yes?”

“What are we — ”

You choke back your words as Sevika bursts out of the house.

"What is it?" Silco snaps.

“I just got a call from Singed, and we got a code red.”

His jaw clenches, and he drops his hold on your elbow to reach into his coat pocket for his phone. He stares at the screen for a moment before nodding curtly.

“Tell him we’ll be there within the hour.”

Sevika turns on her heel and disappears back into the house.

The interruption and its conclusion were so sudden that your head’s still spinning, but those few words had diffused the mood. Now you’re fighting off embarrassment as you back towards the car door, wiping the now crystallized tears from your hot face.

“I’m afraid there’s a situation that requires my immediate attention," Silco says, after an awkward pause. 

“Yeah, no, of course. No problem. I hope nothing too serious is happening.”

“It’s nothing Sevika and I can’t handle.”

“Good. Then I’ll just uh… be on my way then,” You send him a fleeting smile as you open the door. “Have a good trip, Silco. Be safe and I’ll see you… whenever, I guess.” 

You duck behind the wheel before he has the chance to answer, and he only steps out of the way when you start the engine. You make a slow u-turn around the courtyard and your headlights swamp him with light, illuminating his ever inscrutable features. As you pull to a stop at the gate at the end of the drive, you can’t help taking one last look in the rearview mirror.

Silco’s standing almost perfectly framed between the archway, a lonely silhouette in the darkness, smoke curling from his cigar in lazy spirals towards the sky.

Chapter Text

Tuesday October 5, Pt. 1

When you get up somewhat groggily in the morning, the email Silco promised to send is already in your inbox. A check of the time stamp confirms that he sent it in the middle of the night (3:32am, to be exact), which makes you wonder if the man ever sleeps. When you look at the total time you’ll need to watch the training videos you take a moment to do some mental math. Considering the deadline Silco set for you, you’re going to have to start them right away, or risk not getting them done by Friday. 

Since failing to finish them isn’t an option, you shuffle into the kitchen to gather some breakfast before starting on the task ahead. 

3:32am. 

Sevika burst out of the house around 11pm last night. That means that the code red (whatever that means) Singed called in was resolved in only a few hours. 

On one hand, you’re kind of annoyed at the man for interrupting what might have been a very important conversation. On the other you’re relieved that he did. Now that you’ve gotten some sleep (and enough distance from the situation to think about it), you realize that Sevika’s entrance had forced you to swallow back a question that probably would have come out wrong anyway.

“Silco, what are we doing?” 

You scoff into the fridge as you pull out leftovers at random. It sounds even worse in the daylight, but it’s either that or:

“Silco, do you see me as a viable option for a romantic partner? Or is this thing where you invade my personal space and make me think you want to kiss me just for your own personal amusement?”

Yeah, that’s never going to happen.

Your sister left coffee on the counter last night, and with hardly a thought you fill up a glass with ice and pour out half of what’s left in the carafe. You top it with oat milk, and after snagging a banana you grab your foraged breakfast and crawl back into bed. A few pointless minutes later — when you’ve finished arranging and rearranging your food, computer, and notebook in different places on your lap and the side table with no conceivable end goal — you settle back against your pile of throw pillows and hit play on the first video. 

It is at this exact moment that Jorts decides to jump on the bed and take an extreme interest in your keyboard. 

“Jorts, stop!”

You push her away, and though her tail begins to flick she won’t be dissuaded from her quest. After a long battle of wills you’re forced to admit defeat and migrate to the kitchen. It’s usually a safe zone anytime before 12 because your sister likes to sleep in till noon, but as fate would have it, she chooses this morning to change her routine. 

She shuffles in, eyes half open and purple hair in complete disarray. You know better than to talk to her before she talks to you first, so you wait patiently while she dumps what’s left of the coffee into a mug and shoves it into the microwave.

“So, how was hottie mchottie’s house yesterday?” She croaks through a yawn. “Full of scenes of a sexual nature?”

“By regency standards, maybe.”

“Are we talking, like, unprecedented hand touching, conversations held without a chaperone, or mutual pining?”

“A little bit of all three I guess."

"Ooh, scandelous!"

Except that the pining was all one sided, and technically you were the one who initiated contact. All Silco did was grab your wrist very, very tightly.

That's quite enough.

“How’s Mark’s Ass?” You force yourself to ask.

“Still as sweet as ever.”

Sweet isn’t the word you’d use to describe the man, but you let it slide.

“I’m talking to him this morning.”

“Wait, you actually got up because of him ?” You demand. “I can’t get you to get up for anything!”

“And I can’t get you to stay up late for anything.”

“That’s not true! I’ve totally been up past 12 for the last week at least.”

“Only because you've been texting and pining after a certain DILF you refuse to acknowledge is your crush.”

“I don't think putting ‘DILF’ and ‘pining’ in the same sentence was a good idea.”

“Yeah, no sorry. My bad.”

“Also, how do you know I’ve been texting him?”

“Aha!” She crows. “So you have?”

“No! I mean, not really. Just one time. And it’s not like it was a long conversation. It didn’t mean anything. It was for work.”

“Why so defensive?”

“Because you’re attacking me!”

“With the truth! I’m telling you babe, take it from me. You can do some pretty crazy things when you’re in love.”

You groan. "I'm not in love with Silco, okay? And please don’t tell me you’re in love with that fool Marcus after knowing him for like, a month.”

“Technically I've known him for three. And I don’t know, maybe I am. I’m not counting out the possibility. I’m just saying, sometimes you’re willing to sacrifice things you wouldn’t normally sacrifice when you love someone. A sensation which you might actually experience if you’d stop being in denial and let it in.”

“Who says I’m not totally open and willing to let love in?”

“Uh, me? I see you fight it every time I bring him up.”

"I've only known him for 5, 6 days tops.”

“So?”

“So?” You reply in exasperation. “That’s not how love works! At least, not for me. I need time for trust to build. Besides, I don’t even know if he likes me, and I’m not willing to say I love him unless I realistically stand a chance.”

“You’re not willing to say it? So you think you might love him?”

“What? No! I—”

“Hold that thought, Marcus is calling.” 

You scowl at her as she pulls out her phone.

“Good morning Marc.”

“Good morning.” 

He sounds extremely awkward, and you stuff in your headphones hoping to drown out not only their conversation, but the one you just had.

It’s ridiculous. Your sister might believe in love at first sight, but you don't. You’ve never been in love before. Infatuated to an unhealthy degree? Yes. But never in love. Besides, there's no way he could really be interested in you after less than a week. Forty year old men don't do things like that. At least, you're pretty sure they don't. Or maybe they do, but if they did, Silco wouldn't be included in that demographic. 

He's far too careful for that.

You hit play on the video with more force than necessary, and sit brooding for a few minutes before you realize that you haven’t been taking notes. Or listening, for that matter. So you start over. Every second spent focusing on the video feels like an eternity, and you accomplish the sum total of nothing over the course of the next hour. When your sister hangs up with Marcus with the promise of calling him later in the day, you realize you’re not going to get any work done if you come home after your shift. So it’s either stay at the shop after close or go to The Last Drop to study. 

Sevika did give you the key to her office, and the super secret code word to get into the club, and you'd be lying if you said you weren't curious about what it looks like inside.

That decides it for you. When you leave for your shift an hour later, you have everything packed for the evening, including a change of clothes that looks mildly club appropriate. If you’re going to show up to some super exclusive place owned by Silco, you feel like you have to at least pretend to look like you belong.

The drive to work is overcast. 

Fluffy gray clouds are gathering over the city, and Zaun Community College’s radio station is playing Halloween themed classical music, adding to the deliciously gloomy atmosphere. You hum along to Dance Macabre as you take in the decorated yards along the drive. The local Hobby Lobby must have restocked their supply of small hay bales because there are an inordinate amount of them stacked on porches, propping up scarecrows and supporting piles of pumpkins, wooden signs, and skeletons. 

You pull to a stop at a red light on the outskirts of downtown, and glance up at Zaun’s single city billboard out of habit. Yesterday, it showed nothing more than a picture of the city council inappropriately decorated by taggers, but overnight it had been covered by the long anticipated Harvest Festival ad. This year’s theme (as you expected) is Stranger Things, with the promise of a maze and a haunted house in addition to the usual festivities. 

You expect Allie will want to go with Marcus this year, which means you’ll be forced to third wheel on another date. Not that you’re especially mad about it. If your sister thinks she’s actually in love with this guy, then you have a responsibility to vet him and make sure he’s worthy. 

The light turns green, and you continue on your way, head full of your sister, Mark’s Ass, a DILF (you hate how easily it pops into your head), and all the things you have to accomplish before Friday. 

How on earth did Silco think you’d be able to finish the entire manager training course and the test in four days? It must be because the man doesn’t do anything but eat, sleep, and breathe work. In fact, you’re not even sure he sleeps, and now that you’re thinking about it, there might be a legitimate outside chance that he’s a vampire. 

You’re half tempted to ask Jinx if he hates garlic or hisses at crucifixes.

And speaking of vampires, when you walk into the coffee shop you realize for the first time that you’ve never seen the place decorated for Halloween. Every business in town gets into the spirit of things except for Silco’s establishments. 

You resolve, for your first act as soon-to-be-manager, to make the place suitable for fall. 

“Issa, do you think you could rustle up some props from the archives?" You ask the girl while you clock in.

Issa's one of the backstage hands for ZCC's theater club.

“Sure, why?”

“I want to decorate the place for Halloween.”

“What? Decorate? I want in!” Connor calls from somewhere in the front. 

“We should totally make a night of it,” Adds a second voice - Monique - excitedly. “I’ve got a movie projector!”

“Any movie suggestions?”

“The Addams Family!” Issa and Connor say at the same time.

“Sounds like a plan to me,” You wrap an apron around your middle. “I’ll send out a few date possibilities for next week.”

The excited chatter that follows this announcement is good enough for you. Operation “Halloween” will commence with plenty of time before the end of the season. Now you just have to clear it with Sevika.

“I don’t give a damn, so long as I don’t have to do anything. Just clear it with Silco first.”

You grin at the text and slip your phone into your pocket. Your spirits are high as you wash your hands and head back to the espresso machine to pull shots.

“Hi Jim, how are you?”

“Leslie! Good to see you! How are classes going this semester?”

“Hi Josh! You gettin’ your usual?”

“Medium vanilla latte with oat milk, you got it!”

The day couldn’t have flown by any faster, and before you know it you’ve finished closing the drawer, locked the door behind you, and are heading to the bathroom to change. The skirt you’re wearing is short and trendy, the shirt semi-professional, and the heels are at least two inches high, making them the closest thing you have to club foot attire. Your hope is that, after putting on some makeup, you’ll actually look like a person who’s supposed to be allowed into the building.

Even though it’s a Tuesday night, there’s a sizable crowd outside The Last Drop. The bouncer at the door looks like one of those guys Jinx noted could crush a watermelon with his thighs. His arms are crossed over his chest as he watches you approach with cool disinterest. Or what you assume is cool disinterest, because you can't actually see his expression behind his sunglasses.

“Hi, my name’s — ”

“I know who you are.”

You can’t hide your surprise. “You do?”

“We were told to look out for you.”

By who? You can’t help but wonder.

“Oh, alright. Well, do I need to tell you the password or… ”

“No ma’am,” He says, rapping on the door with his knuckles.

Ma’am? 

Bumping music pours out onto the green washed sidewalk as the club opens. 

“Take the stairs on the left to the second floor. A man will stop you, and just tell him your name and that Haim sent you. The offices will be on your left.”

“Cool, thanks.”

The second you step into the room you know you’re out of your element. It’s dark, loud, and crowded, but at least nobody pays you any attention as you skirt around the outside of the enormous space. As you slither through the throng you’re given ample opportunity to take in the room. Around the outside are private alcoves, backlit in blue. Heavy brocade curtains hang from walls gilded with burnished bronze in a distinctly art deco style. Tall drink tables and billiards surround a dance floor, which is almost directly in front of an extremely busy bar. The ceiling is covered in a dazzling collection of crystal chandeliers and purple bar lights in the form of starbursts.

The place is beautiful, but now that you’ve seen it (and are almost going deaf from the music), you wonder how Silco gets any work done here at all.

When you finally make it to the staircase, you shout your name at the equally intimidating man standing at the top, and drop Haim's name. After a slow once over he nods and stands aside. You turn left as instructed and enter a hallway that is distinctly more shabby than the club, probably because it's a part of the original structure. The wooden floors are polished but scuffed, and the carpets plush but well worn. You run your fingers along the velvet wallpaper, which is peeling in a few places near the ceiling and along the wainscoting.

Somehow you like this part of the club better. It kind of reminds you of Silco, in a way. Worn, but still elegant.

You check the signs next to the doors and find Sevika’s office halfway down the hall. You pull out the key she’d given you and after a bit of a struggle manage to push the door open. To say that the office space is a let down would be an understatement. It’s minimalist, though in a neglected sense rather than an actual design choice. There's nothing inside except a desk and filing cabinets, and a fine layer of dust coats the tops of them all, giving you the impression that Sevika doesn’t use the space often.

If ever.

When you sit down in the rolling chair it creaks in a pitiful way and refuses to roll, creating an awkward moment as you grab the underside of the cushion and hop forward until you can reach the desk. The desk itself is the home to nothing more than a mouse, a mouse pad, and an ancient computer monitor.

You have to swallow back a laugh.

Seconds pass as you consider your options. You could stay here, head back to The Last Drip, or head home. There’s no way you’ll get any work done if you go home, and time is ticking. By the time you pack up, head back to The Last Drip, and turn off the alarm, so much time will have passed that it won't be worth it.

The only real viable option is to stay. At least there’s plenty of space for your computer, but it isn’t until you’ve completely set up that you realize that you were never given the wifi password. 

Maybe the nice man guarding the steps will have it…

Except, the nice man guarding the steps is busy engaging in a heated argument with a drunk. Looking around, it’s hard to tell who else might actually work at the club except for the bartender. You figure he probably has access to that information, and squeeze past the bouncer and the drunk to make it to the counter. You aren’t sure he notices you at first, but after about a minute he shifts over. 

“What’ll it be?”

“Can I have a bottle of Shimmer please? Unopened, if you don’t mind.”

He looks at you strangely, and you feel like you have to explain. “I’m here to work. I’m Sevika’s replacement managing The Last Drip.”

He grins, revealing a missing front tooth. “Oh, that’s you is it? Well drinks are on the house for you love.”

He disappears briefly before reappearing with a much larger bottle of Shimmer than you anticipated, but you don’t have the heart to deny the gift.

“Thank you. Could I also have the wifi password?”

He pulls a piece of paper from below the counter. “So, you’re the bosses’ new investment eh?”

There it is again. 

Investment .

“I guess so.”

“I bet Sevika’s jumpin’ over the moon about now. She’s been tryin’ to get outta that place for years.”

“I think she is. And it sounds like she’s better qualified for the brewery expansion anyway.”

“Yeah, Chuck’s as clever as they come, but… well, let’s just say he gets easily distracted.”

He sends a significant look to a group of glammed up college students standing at a nearby table who are shouting, singing, and taking shots.

“Ah. I see.”

“Yeah, I believe you do. Wot’s your name again?”

You give it and he shakes your hand. “Well, it’s always a pleasure to welcome another one to the crew. My name’s Cal. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to find me. I’ll be here all night.”

There’s a shout across the bar, and with a friendly wave he leaves you.

You head back up the stairs, skirting around the fight, which has escalated to the point where Haim has come inside and is getting involved. When you reach the office, you notice that the door across from you is slightly ajar. A quick check of the tag reveals it to be Silco’s office. 

You stand in the middle of the hall, indecisive, before slowly pushing open the door to peak inside. The room’s dark, but there’s a figure bending behind the desk, backlit by the ornate circular window.

Your heart jumps. “Silco?”

The figure flinches violently, and you hear a loud thump followed by a curse.

You flick on the lights, revealing a wide shouldered man in a suit looking surprised as he holds a cigar. You stare at each other for a few beats. He’s probably around your age, with caramel colored skin, amazing hair, and a well manicured beard. He reminds you of the type of guy who would play the love interest in a Hallmark movie called Christmas in Miami.

“Is there something I can help you with sweetheart?” He asks in a deliciously deep voice.

“No, sorry. I just saw that Silco’s office was open, and I know he’s out of town so I thought I’d investigate.”

“How considerate of you," When he smiles, his teeth are perfectly straight and white. "And who might you be?”

“I’m Sevika’s replacement at The Last Drip, as manager.”

“You’re a little young to be running the place, aren’t you?”

And you’re a little too young to be such a condescending ass.

You frown. “I don't think age has anything to do with skill.”

“Fair point. And there are plenty of old fools out there.” 

Something about the way he glances back at the desk rankles you.

“The name’s Charles Rodriguez. Most people around here call me Chuck, but you can call me anything you like,” With a wink he holds out his hand.

You take it automatically, and regret it when his grip lingers.

So this is the man Sevika despises.

“You and the boss meet here often?” 

Somehow you manage to tug your hand out of his grip. "No. I have a deadline for training, and Sevika told me I could come here to study.”

"In Silco's office?"

You nod. "Her office is pretty dusty, so she said I could use this one."

You’re not sure why you’re lying except that you don’t like Chuck, and you don’t think he’s supposed to be alone in Silco’s office.

”So if you don’t mind, I-”

“Study? It looks like you’ve come prepared for a party. Anyone in particular you were hoping to share that with?”

You'd forgotten about the large bottle in your hand.

“Cal gave it to me when I asked for the the wifi password. I’m not going to drink it.”

“No need to be so defensive. We’re all allowed to let loose when the boss is away."

You don't like the look in his eye.

"As it so happens, I have paperwork I need to finish up before the end of the week. I’ll share the space with you, and that bottle, if you don’t have any other plans for it.”

“Actually…”

His phone rings, cutting off your reply that you’d rather share the bottle with a baboon.

He answers with a sleazy, “Rodriguez here.”

A pause. “Fine. I’m on my way.”

He shuts his phone and slips it into his pocket with a dramatic sigh. “Well it looks like we’ll have to put our work date on hold. Duty calls. But I’m sure I’ll be seeing a lot more of you around.”

His smile is probably meant to be charming, but it feels completely fake. You wait until the door closes behind his swaggering form before wrinkling your nose.

Sevika’s right, he’s a total mouth breather.

On a whim you wander over to Silco’s desk. It doesn’t look like anything’s out of place - not that you’d know what it would look like if everything was in place - but one of the drawers is slightly ajar.

Inside is a cigar box with a missing slot.

You take out your phone and chew on your lip as you start to compose a text.

“Hey, sorry to bother you, but do you normally keep your office locked?”

You’re about to slip your phone into your pocket when it starts to ring.

One look at the caller ID and your heart skips a beat.

"Hi Silco."

Chapter Text

Tuesday, October 5, Pt. 2

“Forgive the call,” He answers in a smooth, lazy drawl. “But your question warranted a faster form of communication than text. Especially in light of the message I received from my men ten minutes ago that there was a problem with the security cameras on the second floor.”

You clutch the phone tighter, “Really?”

“I don’t suppose you care to explain to me why you’re in my office?”

“Well I came to study in Sevika’s, but didn’t have the wifi so I went downstairs to find it and when I came back up your door was cracked open. So I figured I should investigate.”

“And what did you find?”

“Chuck.”

“Chuck?”

“Or Charles Rodriguez, I mean. Isn’t Sevika taking over his position at the brewery?”

“Just so.”

“Well he was rooting around in your desk.”

“And where is Chuck now?”

“I’m not sure, but he just left.”

“Can you supply witnesses to verify your account of the story?”

“I talked to Haim on the way in, and the man on the stairs. I also met Cal at the bar. He gave me the wifi. And this Shimmer.”

You hold it up and wave it around as if he can actually see it.

“Very well. I hope you understand that you’ll have to remain where you are while I conduct an investigation.”

“Investigation?”

“The moment the security footage came back online, you were seen standing alone at my desk.”

“Wait, hold on. Does this mean you think I broke into your office?”

“If I did, I would have sent my men to detain you. However I must verify your story, regardless of whether or not I believe you are capable of theft. It’s just standard procedure. And if you’ve done nothing wrong, then you have nothing to hide.”

Despite his bland assurances there’s still a small, irrational part of you that’s worried you’ve done something suspicious in the past ten minutes.

At least he doesn’t sound angry. 

“I have a man looking at the footage already. It should only take a few more minutes to get through the feed and confirm your version of the events.”

“Alright.”

You set the bottle of Shimmer down on the desk as your hands start to sweat. Settling lightly into Silco’s ornate office chair, your gaze travels across the cluttered surface. The hardwood top is littered with disorderly piles of books and papers. There’s also a half full, fancy decanter of liquor sitting next to the mug that you’d pulled out for Silco the day before. The same artistic style of young Jinx that graces the porcelain has also found its way onto the ashtray and inbox tray, both of which are overflowing. 

You’re dying to arrange the papers, straighten the books, and dump the ashes into the trash at your feet, but your better judgment tells you it’s probably not a good idea to touch anything. You’ve technically been incriminated in breaking and entering into Silco’s office, and there’s no reason to encourage the idea.

Also, if Silco likes his desk to be a wreck, he can keep it that way.

When you cross your legs, your foot bumps the drawer Chuck was rifling inside.

“Do you normally share your private store of cigars with your employees?”

“Not typically, no. Why do you ask?”

“I think Chuck might have taken one, that’s all.”

“Curious.”

It seems more strange to you.

You stare at the open drawer with a frown before settling deeper into the chair. When your head lists back, you find yourself staring into the wooden eaves above your head. They’re unnaturally scuffed, and decorated with brightly colored paint. The ceiling is also filled with a child’s scribbles, and a rope dangles just high enough above the ground to be hidden from plain view, but low enough that someone standing on the desk could reach it.

“Did you bring Jinx to the office with you when she was young?”

“Yes. As you may imagine, there aren’t many places for a child to play in such an establishment. The rafters kept her out the way, and I believe she rather enjoyed being able to spy on all of my clients.”

“You weren't able to hire a babysitter?”

“I attempted it, once.”

You grin at the dryness in his tone. 

“I’ll bet she was a regular Kevin McCallister.”

“Who?”

“Sorry, I forgot you don’t watch movies. I just mean she must have been a handful. Though nothing a man like you couldn’t handle.”

“A man like me?”

“Serious, stern, and just a little bit terrifying.”

“Do I terrify you?”

You push your hair back behind your ear. “Not really. You mostly just…”

Confuse me.

“I just what?”

“Nothing. Nevermind.”

His tone is droll. “You’ve never had difficulty sharing your opinions in the past, and I see no reason for you to stop now.”

Yet considering the circumstances, you’d rather not invite this conversation to the table.

“It’s just that you have this presence, and reputation. Nobody can seem to agree on who you are and what you do. I mean, how many businesses do you own in this town exactly?”

“I’ve lost count.”

“Then why on earth would anyone in their right mind want to steal from you?”

“I assume you’re turning the conversation back to Rodriguez.”

“Well I did find him in your office, in the dark.”

“You don’t seem to like the man.”

“I don’t.”

“Interesting. Do you know him well?”

“No. But Sevika — ”

“Is made of complex, highly charged opinions.”

“True. But I have my own opinion, whatever that’s worth.”

“It’s worth something, so long as you can claim an unbiased perspective.”

“Nobody is without bias. But I’m sure my perspective is more unbiased than yours.”

You hear him release a puff of air that could be a laugh. “But I have time and experience on my side. I have known Charles for a long time. For all his faults, he has been a loyal and invaluable asset to my business. Few are immune to the man’s natural charms.”

You snort.

Yeah right.

“I take it you disagree.”

“I’ll admit that he's as good looking as they come. Too good looking, if you ask me. And I’m sure that perfect smile has gotten him out of a few tight spots. But not everyone is easily won over by good looks.”  

“And do you include yourself in such a discerning population?” 

His tone suggests amusement.

“Now, yes. But it’s a lesson I learned the hard way. My old boss was charming and handsome, and was able to convince me that I wouldn’t make it on my own because I didn’t have the experience. He fed me the old 'with him I could build up my resume and head up my own department' line, and I fell for it hook line and sinker. It was my work that got him to the top, and he would have continued to sign his name to it until the day I got wise and quit.”

“Experience is the most painful teacher, but the most essential by far. It forges you into something greater.”

His fervor is clear even over the phone.

“I’ve done my fair share of trusting the wrong person, but human beings are uncomplicated creatures. The key to removing a man’s power over you is by understanding his motivations. Once you know what he wants, it’s simply a matter of making him believe you can give it to him. Or take it away. A man who has something to lose can pose no real threat.”

“You make that sound very…”

“Simple?”

“I was going to say terrifying, actually.”

His chuckle sends a delicious tingle down your spine.

“I speak of life as I’ve found, not as I wish it to be.”

“Do you use that approach on every person that you meet?”

“It’s become somewhat of a professional habit.”

“Alright, so what have you observed about me? I’m sure you’ve already figured out what I want. Or do I have something to lose?”

You weren’t expecting the silence that follows your question. 

“Silco?”

“Do you really wish to know my opinion?”

The caution in his tone makes you nervous, but even more curious. 

You find yourself fidgeting with the chair.

“Yes.”

“Very well. What you want is still largely unclear, but I believe that you have much to lose. Most people, like myself, were forced to learn life the hard way — through personal experience — while others learned through observation. Wisdom can be gained by either form, though only one of them builds resilience.”

It’s clear which category of person he believes you to be.

You frown. “So you think I’m weak?”

“I think you are compassionate.”

It’s not a flaw. In fact, under normal circumstances you would take it as a compliment, but it doesn’t sound like one coming from him. 

“Do you consider that a problem?”

“I don’t, however that wasn’t the question. You asked me what you had to lose, and while I believe there is a true need for decent people like you in the world, compassion can often lead to pain which might otherwise have been avoidable.”

“Are you being serious?”

“Yes.”

“Well I’ve never considered kindness a problem.”

“Of course you haven’t. Which makes you even more dangerous, to yourself and to others.”

You can’t quite believe what you’re hearing.

“You think I’m dangerous because I’m nice.”

“In a way. In my line of work, caring too much is a liability. You must be able to distance yourself from any situation in order to do what is necessary. Compassion. Kindness. Love. They prevent you from making the hard decisions when it is most essential.”

“But you care for Jinx. You love her.”

“And I would kill any man to keep her safe. Which is something I make very clear.”

The hair on your arms rises at the steel behind his blandly spoken words. 

He’s being absolutely serious.

“Your capacity to love without restraint will get you into trouble if you aren’t careful. Especially since you have no reputation, as you call it, to protect you.”

“Okay, but I’m not exactly the Bonnie to anyone’s Clyde. My life doesn’t have enough going on to catch anyone’s interest.”

“Perhaps not, but now that you are running in my circle, you should understand that there is a very real possibility you will become a target.”

“A target for what?”

“Anyone who wishes to… attract my attention.”

It takes a moment for his words to fully sink in.

Is this a warning?

It certainly seems like it, but your biggest question is whether he’s worried about you, or if he’s worried about the threat to himself.

And probably to Jinx too. 

The latter seems more likely.

It hurts more than you thought it would.

“Okay. Well, thanks for the warning. I'll try to be more careful." You get to your feet. “Have your men finished checking out the footage yet?”

There’s a very pregnant pause.

“Yes.”

“So I can leave?”

“Whenever you wish.”

“Great. Well I know you’re busy and I’ve probably kept you for too long.”

Silence.

“I’ll talk to you later?”

“Of course. When you leave, be sure one of my men knows it.”

“Got it. Good night.”

“Good night.”

You’re already at the door by the time you’ve severed the connection. Even as distracted as you are, you make sure it’s locked behind you before re-entering Sevika’s office. 

He’s wrong. Compassion isn’t a problem, it’s the solution, and you’ll be darned if you let a cynical, disillusioned man like Silco try to scare you out of doing what you believe to be right. As you sit down at the desk and hit the power button, you admit that he was right about one thing. You are dangerous to him, but only because you’re stubborn, and you want the chance to prove him wrong.

Besides, you can't let him get away with thinking that kindness is a weakness. The world has gone on too long turning to violence for the answer, and anyone with a half a brain cell can tell you where that method of problem solving has gotten the human race.

There's more than one way to win a fight.

You slip on headphones and work steadily for hours, fueled by righteous anger. You only call it quits when the bass from the music below begins to rattle the filing cabinets in a way that you can't ignore. 

When you check the clock on your computer you’re shocked to find that it’s past midnight. 

You indulge in a yawn after shutting the door and locking it. You’d made it more than halfway through the modules, which means you’ve only got a few hours of real work left. As you shuffle towards the stairs, you mentally calculate how early you’ll have to get up to finish your work in the morning, but you’re forced to put your thoughts on hold as you step into the writhing masses. It’s packed, and it’s a struggle not to step on anyone’s toes or bump into dancers as you dodge around the outside of the room.

You’re almost at the door when a man suddenly staggers away from a nearby table.

“Oh, sorry,” He slurs, fumbling to help you put your jostled bag back onto your shoulder.

He’s leaning towards you in a way that suggests that he’d have fallen flat on his face if you hadn’t been there to stop him.

“It’s fine. You alright?”

His eyes are unfocused. “Me? Not so good. How’re you?”

“Better than you are, I think.”

“Good, good. Great to hear, good to see you. ‘Scuse me…”

He pats your arms and wobbles towards the bar.

You pull your bag strap further up onto your shoulder and watch him leave with mild concern, but after a few moments of monitoring him to make sure he’s still on his feet, you push towards the exit. Haim is still manning the door, sunglasses firmly in place.

You nod at him, and though he doesn’t acknowledge you, you know he recognizes you, and you figure that ought to be enough for Silco.

Chapter Text

Wednesday, October 6

You’re so deliriously tired that once you fall into bed, you don’t stir again until almost 11 the next morning. The first thing you do after rolling over is rummage through your bag with a yawn, but after a few useless moments of fumbling around you realize that your phone isn’t in there. You shuffle out to the living room, where you vaguely recall bumping into the couch on your way to your room the night before, but a bleary search proves it’s not in, on, or under any of the furniture. 

Now wide awake, you grab your keys and prepare to walk several blocks to search your car. 

You live in the middle of a collection of overfilled apartment complexes, and because whoever built them didn’t take into account their convenient proximity to both ZCC and Piltover Uni, parking close to your apartment is almost never in the cards. 

You skirt around a preppy young girl wearing a ZCC Cheer sweater walking with a bow adorned shitzu. She smiles brightly and waves, a gesture you return halfheartedly.

"Beautiful day, isn't it?"

"Sure is."

"Hey, don't you go to ZCC?" She asks, and you physically have to turn 180 degrees to face her.

You struggle to curb your impatientience as you reply, "No, but I work right across the street, at The Last Drip."

She looks positively delighted. "Ooh that's where I know you! I love your guys' coffee."

"Thanks. I think it's pretty good."

When you move to go she stops you again. "Say, are you guys hiring right now? I'm looking for a part time job."

"Not at the moment, but we're always taking resumes. You can bring it in anytime."

"Thanks, I will!"

She waves and practically skips away.

You shake your head and go the final block to your car. A few minutes of scouring it produces no sign of your phone.

“Where are you?” You mutter. 

You mentally retrace your steps, but you only get so far as The Last Drop when you remember being knocked into by that drunk.

It must have fallen out in the confusion.

You’ll have to borrow your sister’s phone to call the club.

You practically jog back to your apartment. Losing your phone wouldn’t be such a huge deal, except that it has a card case on it which houses your driver’s license and debit cards. 

You creep to her room and slowly push open the door, only to realize your sneaking is unnecessary. Allie’s not there. And it doesn’t look like she’s been in all night, judging by the discarded dresses on her perfectly made bed.

Suspicion wars with worry. 

It looks like your sister might have gone out with Marcus last night, and didn’t come home. It's possible she let you know that she made plans for the day, but you won’t know if she did until you find your phone.

You throw on clothes and immediately head out.

Most days you treat speed limits like suggestions, but considering you’re driving illegally across town you concede that this once you won’t break the law. Your painstakingly slow drive to The Last Drop at the very legal speed of 35mph gives you ample time to stew over the situation.

What do you know about Marcus, really? Not enough for you to feel comfortable letting him have access to your sister, especially considering how she feels about him. He might be a sheriff, but he’s still a stranger.

When you finally make it to The Last Drop there’s no bouncer standing at the door, but your knock summons a heavily pierced man with incredibly spiky hair.

“We’re closed.” He says, by way of greeting.

You rush to explain. “Yes, sorry, I work for Sevika and I think I might have left my phone here last night while I was working?”

Porcupine face looks wildly uninterested. “Name?”

You give it and the door shuts. After what feels like an age he comes back and opens the door wide without a word. You sweep past him into the dusky bar. It looks dingier and much less exciting in the daytime, though that could just be the effect of the room being lit by normal fluorescent bulbs instead of strobing neon lights. 

“Hello love!”

“Cal!” You say with relief as the bartender suddenly appears out of a doorway on your right. His suit has been replaced by leather pants and a low cut v-neck shirt, but he’s still wearing a gap toothed grin. When he opens an arm for a side hug you step into it without thinking. 

He smells strongly of leather and wood. 

“I suppose you’re here to pick up your contraband?”

“You have my phone?” You ask hopefully.

“Sure do. Some bloke turned it in an hour or so after you left, said he found it underneath his table. Obviously we couldn’t call to let you know, but I figured you’d be back first thing to get it. And here you are.”

“Here I am.”

He squeezes your shoulder and chuckles. “Come on then.”

He leaves you to walk around the back of the bar, and disappears for a moment below the counter.

“Here she is.”

Relief floods through you as you unzip the card holder and find everything still inside. The only problem now is that your battery is dead.

“You don’t happen to have a charger back there, do you?”

He starts rummaging. “I believe we do… yes, here you are.”

He extends a grubby white cord, and you plug your phone in to charge. All you need is enough juice to check your messages so you can make sure Allie’s alright (and didn’t do anything stupid).

“Want anything while you wait?”

“Not unless you have espresso back there.”

“Afraid not.”

“Just water then please.”

“Anything for you, love.”

You fidget with the phone, keeping the screen in your peripheral as you watch him fetch a glass and twirl it effortlessly from one hand to the other.

“You guys always as busy as you were last night?”

“Busier, if you can imagine. We close around 2am on weekdays, but we’re open all night on the weekends.”

“Isn’t that… illegal?”

“Sure, but the boss found a way around that particular law.”

“How?” You can’t help asking.

He shrugs. “Don’t know and don’t ask. But he’s got a lot of influence in this county, knows a lot of big wigs here and in Piltover proper. There isn’t much the boss can’t get with a snap of his fingers.”

He sets down your glass of water and drops a fancy straw into it. “When Silco puts his mind to something, he’s like a bulldog. He knows what he wants and doesn’t back down till he gets it.”

“Yeah,” you take a sip and consider all your interactions with Silco so far. “But I think he needs more people around who aren’t afraid to tell him no."

"Easier said than done. You've seen the man. And we both know Sevika isn't afraid to speak her mind, but even she does what he asks without question.”

"Sure, but they have a history. Besides, he's not a god, so I don't think we should treat him like one. And it's not like he's unreasonable."

Despite being high handed with you, he’d made a few concessions when you’d held your ground.

He rests his elbow on the counter and cups his chin in his palm. “You know the boss well?”

You play with the zipper on your phone case. “Not really. A little, I guess. But the more I learn about him the less I feel like I know him. Do you…. What do you think about Silco?”

He scratches his cheek, which looks as though it could sport a pretty impressive beard if he didn’t shave. “He lets me alone with my work, so long as I keep makin' him a profit and bringing back his customers. He’s a hardnoser about rules, but I don’t have to worry about gettin' into trouble so long as I keep ‘em. He’s loyal to you so long as you’re loyal to him.”

You nod. It wasn’t anything you hadn’t already guessed about him, but you weren’t really asking about his work ethic.

“Do you think he’s a good man?”

“Now there’s a difficult question to answer.”

He gives you a deeply thoughtful look. “Who gets to decide what’s good? Or how many sins does a man have to commit before he’s irredeemable?”

“I don’t know,” You answer cautiously. “I try not to judge a person on what they’ve done in the past. What matters more is what they’re doing now. If they’ve changed, or if they’re trying to be better, I think that’s what counts.”

He nods slowly.

After a pause he says, “I used to be a pickpocket in London. I learned from a young age that I was charming and had a knack for sleight of hand. It was fun for me to pull the wool over people’s eyes, and I got so good at it that after graduatin’ I decided to forego a higher education and share my gifts with the world. I was making good money at it too, especially considering all the uh, extra tips.”

He has the audacity to wink, and you grin.

“Business was good, and I jumped from station to station in the underground, charming tourists out of their time and money and miscellaneous jewels. Until I got caught with my hand in the pocket of a member of parliament. I thought I was gone for good, then a strange looking bloke with an eyepatch came to visit me in my cell.”

“Silco,” You say automatically.

He nods. “Turns out he was followin' my act, and was impressed by my skills. He offered to bail me out and give me a good payin’ job with one stipulation. He said I had to quit thievin’, and if I ever stole from him he’d cut off both my hands so I could never do it again.”

Your fingers twist around a scrap of your straw wrapper.

Nobody who’s met Silco would doubt his threats.

“Of course I’m not barmy and took the job. He brought me back here and stuck me behind the bar, where I’ve been able to put my talents to good use. Turns out I’ve got a lot more usable skills than just pickin’ pockets. I’ve a good eye for money, and trouble, and true to my word, I don’t steal no more. So I ask you, do you think I’m a good man?”

You consider him. “Obviously I haven't known you for very long, but you seem honest, thoughtful, and you’re generous with advice. I think that matters more than whatever you did in the past.”

He smiles for a moment before sobering. “I tell you all this not for a pat on the back, but to answer your question. Is Silco a good man? To tell you the truth I don’t know. He’s a hard man to crack. But if anyone can do it, I think you could.”

“Why me?”

“Because it’s clear you’ve got a mind to find the answer. Just… please, take a care, love.”

Your heart beats faster as he takes your hand looking grave.

“The boss is like an unstoppable force, and... well, it's clear you’ve got such light in your heart. I wouldn’t want to see you lose it for the world."

He gives you one last long look before the smile returns, and he pats your hand. "But I know you didn’t come all the way here for a lecture. Your phone’s charged enough now, innit?”

At the nod of his head you glance down and realize he’s right. Your mind’s racing in a thousand directions as you put the password in the lock screen.

Cal and Silco, two very different men giving you the same exact advice.

Kindness, compassion, light. All your best qualities are going to get you hurt. But you don't plan on getting rid of them anytime soon, so what exactly are you supposed to do?

You have a sudden, aching wish to talk to your mom. She always knows what to say when you start to feel untethered.

Your inbox holds a whopping 12 messages, and you immediately hone in on your sister’s name.

“Hey sis, Marcus invited me to hang out with him and some of his buddies at this exclusive sushi bar in Piltover, and we’re heading out there around 9! I’ll text when I’m on my way home.”

“Looks like we won’t be back until after 12. I’ll try not to wake you when I get home!”

The next five messages are pictures of the sushi bar, Marcus and his friends looking awkward, then one final selfie of Allie with Marcus. It looks like it was taken much later in the evening, because Marcus’ Piltover Sheriff's department ball cap is gone, and he’s actually smiling for the picture. It’s disconcerting to see him looking happy. You aren’t used to seeing such a pleasant expression on his face.

“Something bothering you, love?”

You don’t realize you’re frowning until you forcibly loosen the muscles.

“Sorry. My sister has a new boyfriend and I don’t know how I feel about him yet.”

“He’s a bad egg?”

“That remains to be seen.”

“I got a lil tipsier than I thought off that sake, lol !!!!! MArcus t thought I would be saferr if I stayed overnight and drove home in the morning :))))))“

Based on the next photo she sends you, you grudgingly agree with his assessment.

“G-nite babe I’ll text in the morning I luv u forever and alwayssssssss!!!!!!!”

Well, it's past morning and you still haven’t gotten another text.

You type out a quick reply.

“Sorry I didn’t reply last night!! I was working at The Last Drop and left my phone but I didn’t realize it until this morning. Everything alright??”

After waiting a few moments to see if the message goes to read (it doesn’t), you head back to your message inbox and open a text from Jinx. 

“So, are you coming over tonight? I’m already at the end of season three of Stranger Things but I really want to watch it with you!”

A quick check of the timestamp shows it was sent around 2 am. 

You shake your head. Like father, like daughter.

“Yeah, I’ll be there! Is 6 alright?”

Her response is immediate. “Heck yes!”

You find and send a gif of some white kid in sunglasses dancing before moving on to the next text, from Connor.

“Hey, so do we have any dates yet for next week? My mom wants me to come over for dinner, but I don’t want to miss the Halloween extravaganza!”

Crap.

You forgot to ask Silco about the decorating while you were on the phone with him last night.

“Not yet! But I should have the answer by the end of the day.”

The heavy sigh is involuntary.

“You sure you’re alright?”

“What? Oh yeah, fine thanks. I just have a lot on my mind this morning.”

“Well not to brag, but I’ve been told I give great advice.”

You huff out a laugh. 

“In my experience things tend to feel a whole lot bigger when they’re stuck in your brain.”

“Yeah,” You hesitate a moment before leaning forward. “Cal, have you ever been in love?”

“Yeah, sure, loads of times.”

“Did you ever think that any of them were mistakes?”

He folds his arms as he contemplates the question. “I’d say most of them were probably mistakes, but they were mistakes I was happy to make at the time. You wouldn’t know it to look at me but I’m a romantic at heart, so I don’t think love is ever wasted.”

“Sounds like you and my sister have a lot in common.”

“But not you?”

You shrug. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to pin all your hopes and dreams on a stranger just because you feel like you might love them.”

“That's a sound bit of logic, and I’d probably have saved myself a lot of heartache if I’d lived by that advice. But I guess I’d rather jump at every opportunity for the possibility of love than risk missing out on finding the one that's meant for me.”

Yes, he sounds just like Allie.

You smile at him, and he responds in kind.

“Oi, Cal!” A girl with straight black hair pops her head around the corner of the bar looking peeved. “You ever comin’ back, or am I going to be here all day doing inventory by myself?”

“Sorry Talia, I’ll be there in a tick. Promise.”

She sends you and Cal a withering look before disappearing.

He glances back at you, sheepish. “Looks like I’ve been shirking responsibility long enough.”

“Yeah, I should probably get home. I’ve already lost a lot of time chasing this thing across town,” You unplug your phone and wiggle it. “Thanks for all the advice. I’ll keep it in mind.”

You make it out to the car before letting out a huge breath of air and closing your eyes. You don’t do anything except sit there and soak in the silence before finally turning back to your phone and composing a message.

“Hi Silco, would it be alright if sometime next week me and the crew at The Last Drip stayed after hours to decorate for Halloween? I talked to Sevika already and she gave her okay, so long as I got permission from you.”

You hit send and compose another text, this one to your mom.

"Hi mama, any chance we can get together next week for lunch?"

You start the car, and you don’t check your phone again until you make it home.

"I'd love that sweetheart! What about Sunday after church?"

You already feel lighter as you confirm lunch for Sunday. A few hours with her should help you get your head on straight.

Silco's reply comes at least an hour later.

“What day will you be decorating”

“I haven’t chosen a date yet, but as soon as I have one I’ll let you know.”

You create a group chat to your team (Or your soon to be team) with a few date options and ask for a consensus before making lunch, and settling in to study. You check your phone every fifteen minutes for messages from your sister, and when another two hours pass you try to call her. It automatically goes to her voicemail. A niggling worm of anxiety wriggles in your gut.

You realize you're going to have to take things into your own hands.

You grimly start typing a message to Silco.

Cal said Silco knew people in Piltover. Surely he, of all people, knew Marcus' private number. And if he couldn't get it for you, then you'd have to resort to cutting the night short with Jinx to conduct your own search and rescue.

Chapter Text

Thursday, October 7

You stare in frustrated disbelief at the  message that comes through just as you’ve finished texting Silco.

“Hey sis!!! It’s totally fine, I was out like a light the second I dropped into bed anyway. Did you know Marcus has a daughter? Her name is Ren, and she woke me up this morning by petting my hair lol. She said her favorite color is purple, and we talked about how Tinky Winky is her favorite doll.”

You rub your temples. 

All that time you spent worrying and waiting, and she was talking to a toddler about Teletubbies.

“She and I made pancakes this morning before Marcus took her to preschool. It was so nice”

You vaguely recall Marcus mentioning he had a kid, and Allie loves kids.

You close your eyes with a heavy sigh.

Why did everything seem to be falling into place for your sister and the sheriff? Was this a sign that they were meant to be? Or was this relationship going to be one of those mistakes Cal was talking about?

You take several deep, calming breaths.

It’s her choice, and if it’s a mistake, it’s going to be a mistake she makes for herself.

You grit your teeth and send your reply.

“That sounds nice. Are you still there?”

You wait impatiently as her text bubble pops up.

“Ah man, I’m sorry I forgot to tell you that I had a personal client in the hills of Piltover today!!”

That figures. The area’s notorious for having no service.

“I’m so sorry if I freaked you out!! I’ll be home ant about 6!!”

“I’m actually going to see Jinx, so I probably won’t see you till late tonight.”

“Lucky for you,” You mutter.

Silco’s reply comes through a few minutes later, just when you’ve managed to calm yourself down enough to settle back in front of the computer. 

“487 736-4444 why do you need it”

You bite your lip. “I was trying to get a hold of my sister, and she was last with Marcus so I was going to text him to make sure she was okay. She just texted me, and it turns out she left his house hours ago and was simply out of service all day. Sorry for bothering you!”

You let out another deep sigh, one of at least ten you’ve released over the course of the last ten minutes. There’s only a few hours until you leave to see Jinx, and it feels like you’ve wasted the whole day on pointless worry. Yet you somehow manage to power through to the last module before your alarm goes off.

You have no energy to anything more than pull a jacket over your comfy clothes and slouch into the car. Jinx throws open the door the minute you arrive, and pulls you into a tight hug.

“Are you hungry? I got us oodles of Thai food through Uber eats. I also bought more candy since you can’t have too many sour patch kids in your life, am I right?”

She doesn’t even let you take a breath before she’s tugging you further into the house. 

“I’m 3 episodes away from the end of season 3 and I love it sooooo much! I heard this season was pretty weird and crazy, but since that perfectly describes me I think that made me want to like it even more.”

Her laugh puts a reluctant smile onto your face.

“I have a surprise waiting for you in the living room! I hope you like it.”

She opens her arms at the door with a flourish.

The show is already queued up on the television, the lights are on dim, but there have been a few drastic changes to the state of the furniture since you were last there. The coffee table has been pushed against the far wall, and every pillow and cushion has been stripped from the sofas in order to build an impressive structure in the middle of the room.

“I thought it would be fun to hang out in our own little Castle Byers while we watch the show,” She says proudly.

You peek inside and take a moment to appreciate the surprisingly spacious pillow fort.

“So? Do you like it?”

“It’s totally rad.”

She claps her hands, “I knew it! Sevika refuses to sit with me when I make them.”

"That tracks."

She beckons you to follow as she steps around the feast that she’s laid out on the floor at the mouth of the fort. You barely have time to slip on your blue blocker glasses and twist around to settle into the pile of blankets before the opening scene starts to play.

Despite the cramped conditions, its fairly comfortable inside the fort, and over the next few hours all the day’s troubles seem to slowly melt away. Even as the show grows steadily darker, Jinx’s constant commentary and conspiracy theories about the ending provide ample entertainment. But the girl gets more and more quiet as the finale approaches. The stakes grow higher, and even though you know what’s coming you still feel your throat tightening.

A girl on screen start screaming.

You blink in surprise as Jinx jostles you in her hurry to leave the fort.

“I gotta go pee!”

She practically sprints from the room, and you shift around in the blankets for the remote. You hit pause moments before you hear a door slam. Though it seems like strange timing you figure it’s just one of her peculiarities. 

You stand up and stretch, and a quick look at the wall clock confirms that it’s almost nine thirty. 

I should probably go after this episode.  

You head to the bathroom, get some water from the fridge, and resettle in the fort to wait.

And you wait.

Ten minutes pass, then fifteen. At twenty you send her a text asking her where she went. At thirty you start to worry. At thirty one you get up and start a hurried search of the house. 

You jog up to the top floor first, and find her room easily. The place is a kaleidoscope of color, with brightly painted walls plastered in concert posters and artwork. Lava lamps and twinkle lights are generously distributed across side tables and bookshelves filled with trinkets and art supplies. Piles of pillows, plushies, and clothes are strewn half-hazard across an unmade bed and carpeted floor. 

The room contains a lot of interesting things, but no Jinx.

There are several rooms down the hall from hers, all of which are locked. You quicken your pace as you duck from one room to the next, and when a tour of the entire house fails to reveal any sign of her you hurry outside to check her studio.

It’s clear from the moment you step into the cool night air that you should have checked there first. The lights are on and the music is blaring, which seems odd. You listen for any indication of what she might be doing inside before lightly knocking on the door.

“Jinx, are you alright?”

It’s only when you hear a guttural scream and the sound of splintering wood that you try the door. You push it so hard it bounces against the back wall, and you take in the scene with wide eyes.

The room is in shambles, and Jinx is on her hands and knees in the wreckage of a broken painting and easel, chest heaving.

“Jinx?” You ask in alarm. “Are you alright?”

She makes no response that she heard you. Round, maddened eyes stare unblinking at her clenched hands.

“Get out of my head,” She mutters.

“Jinx? Can I do anythi –”

“Get out of my head!” She screams, and hurls her open fist at you.

You gasp and flinch back as something hits your glasses and shatters the lens. A hot sting slices your cheek, but you have no time to examine the damage because Jinx is on her feet, a deranged look in her eye. 

“Leave. Me. Alone!”  

You barely keep your feet stumbling out of the room. You hear the door slam as you fly down the stairs, and you don't stop running until you're inside the house. You fumble with the lock before backing up against the wall, chest heaving. 

It’s not even a conscious decision you make to pull out your phone and dial Silco's number.

He answers on the second ring.

“I don’t suppose you’re calling to ask for the mayor’s –”

“Silco, something’s wrong with Jinx!” 

His pause feels far too long. 

“Please explain.” 

You remove your broken glasses with a fumbling hand. “We were watching Stranger Things when she said she would be right back, only she didn’t come back, and I found her in her studio but I think she’s having a panic attack or – Oh Silco! What do I do?”

“Nothing,” He replies swiftly. “Keep your distance, but inform me if she tries to leave the premises. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

“Okay.” 

You almost sob with relief as you hang up.

It’s going to be alright. Silco’s on his way, and he’s going to take care of Jinx.

The wall is the only thing keeping you upright as the adrenaline fades. You push aside the blinds with a weary hand, and keep your eyes fixed on the studio. As you stare at the warm light emanating from the windows, you fall into a trance-like state.

You don't stir from your position at the door until the familiar black sedan pulls into the driveway.

You run out to meet Silco before he fully exits the vehicle. 

“She’s still inside,” You say breathlessly.

He nods, his scarred face revealing nothing of the anxiety and turmoil you're sure is written across every inch of your face.

As he shrugs out of his coat, you reach automatically to grab it. 

“What can I do?”

“Thomas will be out in a moment to keep you company,” he says swiftly. “I don’t know when I will be done with Jinx, but I would appreciate it if you waited for me in the house.”

Your head is already nodding before he’s finished the request. “Yes, of course.”

He tilts his chin at your face as he rolls up his sleeves. “You're hurt.”

It’s only then that you acknowledge the mild discomfort that’s been niggling at the edges of your consciousness.

“It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

He nods curtly. “Go into the house. There’s a first aid kit in the guest restroom, beneath the sink.”

“Okay.” You say, but your feet don't move.

A muscle in Silco’s cheek twitches, and he turns on his heel the moment Tommy unfolds himself from the car. They have a short conversation, and when it’s done Silco takes the stairs to the studio two at a time.

Tommy heads straight for you.

“Come on, Miss Bob Ross,” He says quietly. “Let's get you cleaned up.”

He takes your elbow, and you allow him to guide you into the house. It’s only once you reach the bathroom that you seem to gain your will for independent movement.

He leaves you as you survey the damage in the mirror. Your glasses took the brunt of the damage, though some blood has leaked from the narrow cut across your cheek bone. A slight bruise also appears to be forming where the frames knocked against your eye socket.

You toss the ruined glasses in the trash before wiping away the already coagulating blood. The damage isn’t serious enough for a band aid, but the welt is bright red, you can already tell your face is going to feel tender for the next few days.

As soon as you finish, sounds from the kitchen draw you there like a magnet. You find Tommy dropping tea bags into steaming mugs. He then pulls a dropper from his pocket and holds it over one of the mugs. You don’t even think to question what it is when you sit at the table and he presses it into your hand.

There's silence while you take a few tentative sips. It's green tea mint.

“You doin’ alright?”

“I’m fine,” You say stiffly. Then, “Will she? Be alright?” 

“This sort of thing has happened before,” Tommy rubs his chin. “When she comes out the other side she’s a little worse for the wear, but she's back to herself in a few days. She’s a survivor, that one.”

“Good.”

You fiddle with the lapel of Silco’s coat that you’ve draped on the table, and take careful sips from the steaming mug. Slowly, you feel yourself relax, and your sense of reality returns.

For some time you sit quietly at the table. 

You get up for seconds, only this time you go for coffee and cream.

An hour passes.

At some point during that time you remember to send a text to your sister to let her know you’ll be home later than expected.

Eventually Tommy’s chair creaks as he gets to his feet.

“I’m afraid I have to go. The missus will be wondering where I’m at. Will you be fine by yourself?”

“Yeah, yeah sure. I’ll be fine.”

“Don’t fret yourself over Miss Jinx. She’s in good hands.”

“I know. Bye Tommy.”

He gives your shoulder a quick squeeze, then you’re once again on your own. You shiver in the cold silence, and move into the living room. Pulling apart the fort feels like an insurmountable task, so you crawl into one of the chairs instead. You don't remember grabbing Silco’s coat, but you have it clutched in your lap.

There’s something soothing about the feel of the material in your hands.

After a while your eyelids start to droop. You fall into a broken sleep. You're dragged through the twilight of half-remembered, surreal dreams until a sudden noise jolts you awake. A quick look towards the door reveals you’re no longer alone in the room. 

You sit up straighter and try to shake the lingering cobwebs while Silco watches you from the doorway. 

“How’s Jinx?” You rasp.

“She’s calm, now," He sounds tired. "I convinced her to take her medication and sent her to bed. She likely won’t awaken till late tomorrow afternoon.”

“Is she hurt?”

“She sustained no serious bodily injury.”

And her mind?

You aren't sure if you're brave enough to ask the question.

“I would very much like to know the cause of my daughter’s regression, if you have the time to tell it.”

“What do you need to know?”

He paces to the front of the room. “Everything. What was happening on screen when she left the room?”

“One of the main antagonists was dying.”

“Who?”

“Uh, his name is Billy.”

“I would be in your debt if you would describe this character in detail. His history, his personality. No piece of information, no matter how insignificant it may seem, should be omitted.”

The next few minutes are spent giving him your stilted narrative, but whenever you start to run out of information Silco manages to ask just the right prompting question to wheedle more out of you. Eventually, however, he goes quiet.

“There is no rest for the wicked, it would seem.”

He comes to a halt in front of the television, running his fingers through his hair. You take in his stiff frame, trying to guess what might be going on in his head, but then you’re distracted by something dripping from his arm onto the floor.

You lean forward with a squint. His forearms appear to be marked with angry slashes. Some of them are more violently red than the others.

“You’re bleeding.”

“Yes,” He says absently.

When it’s clear he isn’t going to move, you slip off to the bathroom to grab the first aid kit, and bring it back to pop it open on the coffee table. You proceed to rip open an alcohol pad, and he doesn’t seem to notice when you approach and let out a soft gasp.

Some of the cuts are much deeper than they appeared from a distance, like they were inflicted with force by a weapon. Many of them are coded with bruises.

Jinx did this to him?

Just like she would have done to you, if you’d stayed.

Poor, sweet, enthusiastic, dangerous Jinx.

“Here,” Your voice wobbles as you extend the wipe towards him. “You don’t want those to get infected.”

His eyes dart from your face to your hand. As soon as he takes it you retreat back to the chair, where you keep your burning eyes trained on the wall. The ticking of the clock seems to intensify, and you can hear every whisper of his shirt sleeves as he methodically cleans his wounds. 

“Does it hurt? The cut on your cheek.”

He asks the question curtly.

You shake your head. It’s a lie, but it doesn’t really matter. The discomfort is probably nothing compared to what he’s experiencing.

“What happened to her?” You ask at last.

“That’s a story for another night.”

“I’ve got time – ”

“No, it’s late,” He cuts in. “I’m sure your sister will be worried about you.”

His face is set in stone, and his voice brooks no argument. 

You swallow back rising disappointment and rise unsteadily to your feet.

“Well. I guess this is good-night, then.”

“I would be grateful if you didn’t mention the events of this evening to anyone. Not even your sister.”

“Of course.”

“Many in my employ are familiar with Jinx’s… episodes, and are fairly compensated for any damage they sustain. If you wish, I am prepared to pay –”

“No!”

Your vehemence startles him.

“I don’t want your filthy money,” You hiss. “What I want is to understand!"

His words have sparked a fire in your gut, and you’re practically trembling with anger.

"What happened to her, Silco? Why is she like this? And how can one little girl have… have suffered so much… p-pain…”

A sob tears itself from your throat as you bury your face in your hands. Fat, hot tears spill between your fingers. You stand rigid in the middle of the room, the only sound your shuddering, choking breaths.

Then a pair of arms wrap themselves around you. They're surprisingly gentle for the gruffness of the voice that speaks into your ear.

"Don't cry. It's not your fault."

You instinctively turn into his chest.

"I c-can't help it," You gasp between sobs.

You feel his chest rise and fall in a sigh. A tentative hand strokes your head. 

“I know.”

Chapter Text

Thursday, October 7

For some time you remain this way.

The sobs eventually ebb, leaving hiccups and shaky inhales in their wake. The congestion in your head is like a weight. Every feeling has been leached from your body, and though it appears that you’ve gone numb, you’re still aware of every molecule that’s being held by Silco. 

He’s done this before.

His stillness is as obvious as an act of motion. Your vision has narrowed down to the barely visible line of buttons on the front of his maroon shirt, which is darkened with tears and snot. Silco’s hand, though it had settled so briefly on the crown of your head, is now resting between your shoulder blades while his other arm is wrapped around you in a way that makes you feel sheltered and safe.

Yet the moment can’t last forever. 

Let him go.

It’s the wisest, most logical move. He’s your boss, and it would mean so much trouble for you both if anyone found you in his arms. But another (more selfish) part of you can’t help but think:

This feels so nice, 

And also, 

Who’s gonna know?

But fate, it appears, is wiser than you.

Your next sniffle creates a flood, forcing you to raise your fingers to your nose to stem the tide. You lament more than just the sudden influx of conditioned air that sweeps in where his warm chest resided moments before. Rather than linger on the disappointment, you head towards a box of tissues nearby and begin to mop up the mess. As you struggle to pull yourself together, Silco seems content to stand aside and watch.

It’s probably just as well.

After spending the last ten minutes ugly crying, you hold out no hope of looking like anything other than a flushed, stay-puft marshmallow man. It’s only after you’ve stuffed a half a box of used tissues into your sweatshirt pocket, and pushed your damp hair away from your face, that you dare to speak.

“I’m sorry.”

“About what?”

“About losing it. And about your shirt. I’d be happy to have it dry cleaned.”

“Ah. Well as you so eloquently put it: ‘I don’t want your filthy money’.”

You send him a weak, sheepish smile.

“As we’ve established on several previous occasions, apologies are not necessary between us. Besides, as you can see, this particular article of clothing was already a lost cause before you came along.”

He indicates the shirt with a rueful smile.

Your smile slides off your face as you once again take in the damage caused by Jinx.

“I know it’s none of my business, but I really want to understand. Please.”

His gaze lists towards the fort still piled haphazardly in the middle of the room, and his red eye darkens. You notice that it seems more polluted than usual. Several moments pass in heavy silence. You keep absolutely still, feeling that if you wait long enough he'll finally break.

Almost a minute passes before your patience is rewarded.

He runs a hand over his eyes as he says, heavily. “We were thrown together, Jinx and I, due to circumstances neither of us could change. Both of us were broken. She had lost too much too soon, and I… I was lost.”

He paces away, running his hands through his hair.

“I never thought I'd be a father. I had none to speak of, and I did not wish to form any unnecessary emotional entanglements. But fate often gives one no choice in the matter of responsibility. I thought I was being punished for all of my misdeeds, but I quickly came to realize that she was, in fact, a great gift to me.”

“And you to her,” You reply. “You’re a good father, Silco.”

“Wish that I were. I used to think that anger alone could guide you to a higher purpose, but with Jinx, this tact has failed. It has only taken her further down the path to madness. ”

All you can see now is Silco, fists clenched at his side, head bowed.

“How can one root out the darkness in the one they love, when there is still so much inside themselves?”

You take one slow, halting step forward, then another. Hesitantly, you reach out to take his left hand. At your touch his head snaps up, and the expression etched upon his carven face is terrible, equal parts fury and anguish.

“It’s not your fault.”

“Ah, but it is.”

You might have flinched back at the pure venom in his voice if his hand wasn’t gripping yours as if his life depended on it.

“You know nothing of me or my life, and I promise if you did, you wouldn’t be standing alone with me in the dark. I could tell you stories of my sins that would make your skin crawl.”

“You’re right,” You say, voice shaking. “I don’t know anything about your past, and I don’t want to know.”

“Then you’re a fool.”

“Maybe,” You reply miserably. “But so are you. A fool and a liar, because you said that love is a weakness, and yet you love Jinx more than anything.”

He flinches as you gently touch one of the angry cuts on his forearm.

“No matter what’s happened to Jinx, and no matter what you’ve done, it’s over. The only thing that matters now is what you’re doing to make it right.”

“And what if it’s never enough?”

“I don’t think we can ever do enough. But there’s a story in the Bible about one of the greatest apostles who ever lived, who once killed Christians. If God could still love and forgive him, then I’m pretty sure you can learn to forgive yourself. And learn to love, even when it seems foolish and… and dangerous.” 

He holds your earnest gaze for several heartbeats before his eyes drop to settle on your entwined hands. 

“Perhaps you’re right. If I could learn to forgive, then maybe I could move forward, free from guilt. But I cannot. No matter how… tempting… the invitation may be.”

He gently pries his hand free of yours, and steps away. He gives you a look that makes your throat ache before he slips on the blank, expressionless mask that marks the return of his inexorable control.

“The world is a cruel, shattered place, and I am in part responsible for the shard which pierced my daughter.”

“Silco…”

“I believe I have kept you long enough. Forgive me for not seeing you out. I wish to check on Jinx, and I have a few phone calls to make.”

You nod, accepting the dismal with a heavy heart.

“Good night then, Silco.”

On the drive home is when you realize that you’ve been harboring another heartache’s worth of tears.

Friday, October 8

(9:17 a.m. or something, IDK, too early)

“Oh my gosh this is going to be so much fun!” Allie squeals.

You grunt as you unbuckle and begin to slide across the bench seat of Marcus’ truck, which you’ve been sharing with an empty car seat. 

The drive had started out awkwardly, just like you’d anticipated, but you’d handled the situation like a pro. The old “feigning sleep” routine worked like a charm, though it quickly turned into a real doze. After all, you’d made it home well after 1 am the night before, and were still nursing a sore, puffy face and an emotional hangover.

Your sister is already standing out on the passenger side, but your door refuses to open. When it appears that it doesn't intend to let you out, and that nobody has noticed your conundrum, you say,

“Uh, a little help?”

“Oh. Sorry, kid lock.”

“Ren recently learned how to open doors.” Allie tells you proudly before closing her door.

The lock clicks, and as you push open the door you catch Marcus’ eye in the rear view mirror. His gaze shifts away at lightning fast speeds.

Such a twitchy man, for a sheriff.

Allie is at Marcus’ side, who has his hand clasped in hers before you even have time to settle your feet on the cement. He gives her a cautious smile, but he's holding himself stiffly, his free hand twitching. 

As the two walk ahead, you release a wide yawn. 

“Okay so I know this one was pretty far, but I looked up escape rooms within a 50 mile radius of home and this one had the best reviews. And it has a Sherlock Holmes room, so obviously it's a must. And according to what I read it has the toughest puzzles to crack. One group was stuck inside for 3 hours before they gave up.”

“Lord help us all,” You mutter.

She tugs Marcus through the doors of the escape room and you trudge along behind them.

Allie drops Marcus’ hand as she steps up to the counter, leaving him to stand stiffly in the middle of the room. You find the nearest wall and lean against it with your arms crossed.

“Allie says you aren’t good at puzzles.”

You frown.

Already with the insults?

“It’s not that I’m not good at them, it’s just that I don’t care.”

He stares at you.

“So are you any good with puzzles?” You finally force yourself to ask, when it’s clear he doesn’t have anything else to say.

“Yes. It’s what makes me good at my job. I don’t think this room is going to be difficult, even if you don’t help.”

 You raise your eyebrows, unsure if you should feel insulted or not.

“Great. I’ll do my best not to get in your way then.”

Again with the stare.

But by then your sanity is saved by Allie, who steps over and says, “We’re all checked! But now’s the time to pee, so come on sis.”

Before you have time to either confirm or deny your need to pee, she’s dragging you towards the bathroom. It’s clearly a one person room, but she pushes you ahead of her anyway.

“Allie, what are you  –”

“No!” She hisses, “What the hell are you doing?”

You’re startled by her sudden anger.

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play stupid, you know exactly what I’m talking about. Do you even realize how hard Marcus is trying right now?”

“Trying? To do what? Insult me? Well don’t worry, he’s doing a great job at it.”

“You’re so selfish," She hisses.

You’re stunned to realize that she’s livid.

“Allie – ”

“Marcus is the first guy I’ve met in literally years who does nice things for me and actually LIKES me. But do you care? No. All you care about is whether or not he gets your clever, stupid jokes. So what if he doesn't? So what if he isn't Silco Spisak? That isn't an excuse to treat him like shit."

You flush.

"Do you know he texts me every night to ask me about my day, and actually wants to know the answer? No, you don't, because you don't ask. And I know you think I’m making a mistake. You don’t think he’s good enough for me or he's too awkward or whatever, but it's not about what you think. This is my life, and I think he’s good enough, so he's good enough, alright?”

"Alright..."

“And did you know that he thinks you're intimidating?” She demands.

She's clearly waiting for your answer, and you shake you head with your jaw clamped shut.

“Yeah, well, he does. He says that he has a hard time having conversations in normal social situations because he can’t always read social cues, but with you he has no idea what to do. But he keeps trying. Why? Because he's a sweetheart, and he knows you’re my best friend so he wants to be friends with you too. So please, do me a favor and try. Try and be nice to Marcus, for me, because I like him a lot, and I don’t want my lovely day with my lovely boyfriend ruined by your shitty attitude.”

"Okay. I’m sorry," You answer, really meaning it.

Allie releases a heavy, shaky sigh. “I just… I really want this to work out. Can you at least pretend to be happy for me? Please?” 

"I don't have to try Allie. I really want you to be happy, and if Marcus makes you happy, then... then I'm happy."

“Thank you. Now come here before I start to cry and ruin my makeup."

She pulls you into a fierce hug, and you try to let go of all your resistance before she lets go and holds you at arm's length.

"Good, I'm glad all that's out of the way. And now that I've yelled at you, I want to know how Jinx is. What did you and the crazy girl do this time? Did she... wait, is that a bruise on your face?”

Just like that, in classic Allie fashion, her frustration evaporates into worry.

In the mirror you can see the makeup streaking off your cheek, revealing a nicely purpling bruise. “Yeah. I uh… had a bit of an accident yesterday. I promise it looks worse than it feels.”

Just barely.

"What happened? Did someone do that to you?”

“No. It was an accident.”

Your toes want to curl up at the lie.

You can tell that Allie's suspicious, but she seems to be debating how best to get answers.

You hold your breath.

"Have you put arnica on it yet?"

You puff out a laugh of relief. "Yes, of course. Look, I'm fine alright? Don't worry about it. Now get out of here because I actually do have to pee."

Before she demands to know more (in a nosy, older sister fashion), you herd her towards the door.

You do your business, struggling to fix your attitude and the concealer around your eye before reentering the lobby. Allie appears to be back to her normal self, and Marcus looks relaxed, content to be holding her hand. It isn’t until you clear your throat that you see him tense, and you’re flooded with guilt.

It's true that you haven't exactly tried to get along with Marcus. Not that he's making it easy, but still.

You fidget with your overlong sweatshirt sleeves as you settle into one of the lobby chairs next to him. You scramble to come up with a viable topic of conversation, if only to dissipate the tense silence that settled in the room when you appeared.

“So uh, Marcus. Do you like Sherlock Holmes?”

He looks at you suspiciously, as if he can’t tell if this a trick question or not. 

“Yes.”

“I uh, I’ve seen a whole bunch of different versions because Allie likes them. The one with Robert Downey Jr. was cool. Have you seen that one?”

He nods.

“Cool, cool, cool, tight, tight, tight...”

You nod a few times, feeling the sweat collecting on your spine as your sister watches you, one eyebrow arched. 

I'm trying Allie, I'm trying!

You scratch an imaginary itch on the back of your neck.

“I saw Sherlock, too, and some of the other BBC shows, but I think my favorite version is Elementary.”

At this, his eyes light up.

You're flooded with relief.

Okay, now we're getting somewhere.

“I like how unorthodox the characters are," You offer. "I think Jonny Lee Miller does an good job as Sherlock.”

“I agree,” He says eagerly. “I appreciate how they show that, despite his brilliance, he still struggled to come to terms with his handicaps.”

“And he had an amazing support system," Allie says. "who help him when he's having a hard time. And to tell him when he was acting like a spoiled child.”

Your eyes slide to your sister.

“Yeah. I think we all need people who’ll stand by us, and lovingly inform us that we’re being an enormous pain in everybody’s ass.”

Marcus laughs, and you find yourself laughing along with him, more in surprise than anything. 

His laugh is absolutely, 100% ridiculous.

When Allie grins you can tell that all is already forgiven, and that maybe this won’t be the worst, most uncomfortable three hours of your life.

Who knows? You might even enjoy yourself.

“The room’s ready for you now,” The girl at the counter says, rounding the counter with a beckoning hand.

“Great!”

Allie eagerly bounces to her feet.

“I’m sorry in advance if I hold you guys back," You say. "I feel a little slow today. But feel free to tell me to sit down and keep my useless opinions to myself at any time.”

“I'm sure we’ll be happy to hear whatever suggestions you give," Marcus says courteously.

“Speak for yourself,” Allie says, charging ahead. “I was told that the record time for beating this room is 55 minutes, and I intend to blow that time out of the water.”

You move to follow her as she heads down the hall, but Marcus holds a hand out to stop you. He’s regressed into his uncomfortable, awkward self as he starts to speak.

“I was um… I was wondering if you might… If you could take pictures.”

“Take pictures? Of you and Allie?”

He nods.

“I’d love to, but I don’t think we can take our phones inside.”

In response, he pulls a throw away camera from his coat's inner pocket. He's so excited that his eyes have brightened, and he's practically tripping over his next words.

“I called ahead. They said I could bring this in, so long as it didn’t have a flash. One of my deputy’s daughter’s works here, and she helped me arrange a surprise at the end of the room. You know, for Allie. It's our three month anniversary.”

He planned a surprise for their three month anniversary?

You stare at him, incredulous.

Allie was wrong. 

Mark’s Ass doesn’t just like your sister, he’s clearly head over heels for her.

“Okay. Yeah, sure I’d be happy to.”

“Just try not to tip her off. I don’t want her getting suspicious.”

“That won’t be a problem. Allie’s super competitive. She’ll be so wrapped up in winning that she won’t pay any attention to me.”

He looks relieved as you take the camera and slip it into your pocket. He even grins shyly, tipping his head in a salute before walking away.

You follow slowly.

It’s official. You’re thoroughly ashamed for having misjudging the man.

And you swear you're going to do everything you can to make it up to him.

Chapter Text

Friday October 8 (Cont.)

“Okay that was fun.”

“Fun?” Allie huffs. “You didn’t do anything except sit around and make unhelpful jokes!”

“Dude, you were the one who told me, and I quote: ‘stop making suggestions, they’re not helpful’.”

She can’t defend herself against that, so instead she scoffs. “I still could have done without the jokes.”

“They were distracting.” Marcus adds.

“Sorry,” you grin, not sorry at all. “Next time I’ll be as quiet as a church mouse.”

“No you won’t, because this is the first and last time I’ll ever invite you to do an escape room with us.”

“Ouch, that really hurts my feelings. Hold on while I find my handkerchief to cry into.”

She scowls. “Jerk.”

“Look, I really am sorry you didn’t finish the room in 55 minutes, but you still placed 2nd for fastest time and got a nice basket of your favorite things at the end of it. That has to mean something, right?”

“Yeah. That was pretty sweet.” Allie admits grudgingly.

“And then there are the pictures I took.” 

“I can’t wait to see how they come out,” She answers, her excitement returning. “I was probably making that stupid concentration face in most of them though.”

“I can confirm that is 100% true.”

“I like your concentration face,” Marcus says. "It makes you look very...”

He stumbles to a halt.

"Very what?"

He turns bright red, and mumbles something you can't hear.

"What's that?"

Whatever he says next makes your sister practically glow. She tugs her gift basket out of his’ hands and shoves it into your arms before wrapping her arms around his neck and going in for a kiss. 

You turn away to give them some privacy, and cast a bittersweet smile to the sky.

It’s nice to finally be free of the emotional burden of micromanaging your sister’s love life, but with that acceptance comes an empty ache inside of you. 

Will you ever feel about a man the way Allie feels about Marcus?

Will any man adore you like Marcus adores your sister?

Even as you ponder these questions, you know you aren’t thinking about just any man.

But the man in question is nothing like Marcus. Marcus is earnest, adoring, and completely willing to make a fool out of himself for love. You can’t imagine Silco being any of those things. Passionate? Yes. Attentive? Absolutely. But would he compliment you, then blush when you throw yourself into his arms and kiss him like nothing else exists in this world…?

You shake your head forcefully as heat rushes to your cheeks.

Don’t do this to yourself.

To distract yourself you dig your phone from your pocket and hit the home button several times. Nothing happens except the appearance of a small red blinking battery. 

Did it die already? I swear I charged it last night!

As you slip it back into your pocket you mutter incoherently about old phones and battery life and planned obsolescence.

“What’s that?” Allie asks.

Her cheeks are flushed, and Marcus looks like a man who was just woken up by a hypnotist.

“Nothing,” You clear your throat. “Hey, you guys want to get some breakfast? I think there’s a cafe around the corner.”

“I could eat.”

“Sweet,” You hold your hand out to Marcus. “Give me your keys. I’ll put this in the car while you guys grab us a table.”

He relinquishes it without any argument. As you head towards the truck, you look back over your shoulder and watch Allie tug the sheriff along after her. 

They really are perfect for each other.

It's baffling. Who would have thought things could work out between a straight-laced, socially awkward sheriff and an emotional, enthusiastic tattoo artist with purple hair? And if they have a chance at making love last, as different as they are, then theoretically so does anyone else. 

Like a dangerous, compassionate manager-to-be and a mysterious, snarky middle-aged man with a teenage daughter.

As a random, non-specific example.

You bite your lip to stop a smile as you unlock the truck.

Why are you like this? 

Probably because you’re still tired from your night spent with that random example.

You heave the basket into the backseat.

Though your sister was the one who invited you to come along on this date, and you’re genuinely glad you did, it’s probably time for you to bow out. Your job here is done. You've confirmed that Marcus isn't a creep and only has eyes for your sister, and if he made other plans for this three month anniversary (which seems likely), it would only be fair to all of you if you gently uninvite yourself.

Which makes you wonder how you’re going to do that when you have no car. You could Uber, except your phone is dead and you have no way to order a driver.

You climb into the front seat to rifle around in the middle console, but the only thing you find inside is a couple of straws and a black Samsung charging cord.

Maybe Allie brought her portable charger.

You lock the truck behind you and meander through the parking lot at an angle, in no hurry to get back to third wheeling.

As you breathe in the crisp air, you take your time looking around at the commercial complex. It’s like so many other commercial buildings on the outskirts of Piltover county. Utilitarian, sparsely decorated, and without color or defining features beyond basic black and white store signs placarded above doorways. The City of Progress truly lives up to its name in the epicenter of the city, showing off the skills of its artisans through metalwork and design, but out here on the outskirts their architecture leaves much to be desired. 

Not to mention the landscaping. The trees (if you can even call them that) are widely spaced, ill-grown evergreens packed into beds of wood chips through which spindly weeds are struggling to grow. 

Sure, Zaun can be a bit dicey and run down in some areas of the city, but you’d have to try hard not to see something to pique your interest. Abandoned buildings tend to be left alone to be decorated by moss and street art, and the boulevards are populated with businesses thriving among colorful plants, trees, and eclectic decorations. Things get especially interesting in Zaun during this time of year, making the blank building before you seem even more depressing in comparison.

Just before pushing through the cafe doors you stare Southward, towards the orange and yellow hills, and the river that separates you from your hometown.

No matter where you go or what you’re doing, everything seems to lead you back to Zaun.

The question that lingers is why.

“I’ll trade every single hashbrown I have for that pancake.” Allie says, pointing to your plate.

“Done,” You reply, already nudging a half sodden flap-jack onto her plate from across the table.

“Right on. Want half this egg too?”

“You know it. And you can have that dollop of whipped cream with the sprinkles for no extra charge.”

“You’re a very generous person.”

“I know.”

Marcus chews his steak with a look of intense concentration as he watches the food exchange plates.

“I thought you didn’t want any pancakes,” He says to Allie.

“Well I didn’t want them twenty minutes ago.”

“And you also said you’d kill a man for some potatoes.”

“I didn’t mean it literally Marcus.”

“Yeah,“ You mumble around a mouthful of her potatoes. “But say that she did. Could that be considered premeditated murder? As a sheriff, would you legally be required to arrest your girlfriend for mentioning she would commit that kind of crime?”

The poor man looks at you, flabbergasted.

“Ignore her,” Allie says with a roll of her eyes. 

“No, but seriously. Say you didn’t arrest her, and she actually does murder a guy for a tater. Would you then have to arrest yourself for aiding and abetting  a murderer?”

The man is saved from answering your only half-joking question by his phone. He stands abruptly as he looks at the caller ID.

“I have to take this.”

“Is it work?” Allie asks anxiously.

He shakes his head with a frown and stalks outside.

“Speaking of phones,” You say around another mouthful of hashbrowns. “You wouldn’t happen to have your portable charger on you, would you?”

“Nope.”

“Bummer. Well how would you feel about ordering me an Uber? I’ll pay you back later.”

“And Uber? Why?”

“I guess I figured you’d want to spend the day with Marcus, and that I’d only get in the way.”

“That’s not true. If you’d rather go home though, that’s up to you. I mean, it’ll cost you a fortune but…”

She breaks off as Marcus walks back inside. 

“Everything alright?”

“Fine,” He hands you the phone. ”It's for you."

“Really?"

Your surprise is quickly overcome by a grin as you get to your feet. “I'll bet it's the chief of police who called to answer my question about the murder thing –”

“It’s Silco.”

Adrenaline spikes.

“Oh. Did he say what he wants?”

“No.”

The sudden reappearance of abrupt, recalcitrant Marcus feels like a bad sign.

Something must have happened to Jinx. 

A lead weight seems to have replaced all the potatoes in your stomach.

“Hey,” Allie says, brightening. “Why don’t you ask your sugar daddy to chauffeur you home? It’ll be way cheaper!”

Marcus shoots you a slightly horrified look.

You force a laugh, even while you silently curse your sister’s horrible sense of humor. “She’s kidding Marcus.”

He doesn’t look convinced.

Seriously Allie? 

You hurry away before she has a chance to say anything else, and put the phone to your ear as soon as you step out onto the sidewalk.

“Hello, Silco?”

“You’re a difficult woman to get a hold of.”

You can’t tell from his monotone how he’s feeling, and that only puts you more on edge.

“Sorry. My phone died and I don’t have a charger on me. Is everything alright? I texted Jinx this morning but she didn’t answer.”

“I didn’t call to deliver bad news, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Oh. Good.”

Unease is replaced with confusion.

“Then why did you call?”

“I had a question which needed an immediate answer. And when you didn’t answer your phone, I called someone who I believed would know where I could reach you.”

“And you thought of Marcus?” You ask, incredulous.

“He and your sister are dating, are they not?” He drawls.

The comment doesn’t make any sense until you remember you'd texted him about your sister yesterday morning. So much had happened since then that it feels like an age.

“I have to get back to work, so I’ll keep this brief. There is a dinner with the ZCC board of directors tomorrow evening, and due to a previous business arrangement Jinx is required to attend. I’d like to request your presence, for the sake of my daughter. Considering her current… fragile condition, I know she would benefit from your support.”

“Mine?”

“Yes. Jinx regularly declares her fondness for your company, and I believe she is anxious that yesterday’s events may have damaged your friendship beyond repair.”

“What? No! Absolutely not!”

“And so I assured her.” 

“Good,” You say forcefully. “And of course I’ll come, but I work a mid-shift tomorrow so I’ll probably be late.” 

“Sevika will find someone to cover your shift. And as I will consider your time spent at dinner an operational meeting, I will pay you accordingly.”

“Oh you don’t have to –”

“It isn’t up for discussion,” He clips. “I’ll have Thomas pick you up at 4:30. Formal wear is required.”

“I don’t really own any formal wear.”

“No matter. It will all be taken care of.”  

Taken care of? How?

“Okay. I’ll be ready for him.”

“Good. I’ll send you his number so you can connect with him directly. As soon as your phone has recharged, that is.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m currently locked up in a series of business negotiations, but if you need him, I will dispatch him immediately to your location.”

“Excuse me?”

“I believe your sister mentioned you needed a ride home.”

“Oh! Oh.” You moan. “Oh lord. Don't tell me you heard that?”

His chuckle sends a thrill up and down your arms. “Your sister and my daughter appear to share many similar traits, one of which is an unhealthy degree of meddling in the lives of their loved ones.”

Your cheeks flame with embarrassment. “Yeah. Thanks for the offer, but I couldn’t possibly accept.”

“Why?”

“It’s too much trouble.”

“I assure you it isn’t.”

“Okay, but… I mean, you have no reason to do it.”

“I disagree,” He replies, his voice strangely tight. “If you hadn’t been with my daughter last night, or had the foresight to call me and stayed until I arrived, I don’t know what would have happened. In the past she has been known to commit acts of great violence while in that state. You bear the marks of it yourself. I owe you a great debt.”

You swallow back a lump in your throat.

“You don’t owe me anything. I only did what I thought was right.”

"Of course you did," He says in exasperation.

Or amusement, it's hard to tell.

"Now quit arguing. I’ve already alerted Thomas and he’s on his way.”

Call it a knee-jerk reaction, but you actually look towards the parking lot as if the black sedan could appear at will. 

“But you don’t even know where I am,” You try feebly.

“Marcus has already informed me, and you're not far.”

The man certainly has an annoying habit of being an immovable object, but at the moment you don’t have the energy to fight him on it. 

You release a huff. “Alright, fine."

You can imagine the smug smile tugging at the corner of his scarred lips.

"I just hope you know what you’ve unleashed. My sister will never let me live this down. Or you. She’ll forever brand you as my… my sugar daddy.”

Your face burns suddenly as you say the words.

“I shall bear it as best I can," He answers drily. 

When you at last hang up and head back inside, Marcus is waiting for you in tense silence. You hand him his phone after dropping into your seat.

"Everything alright?" He asks gruffly.

"Yep. All good in the hood."

"So?" Allie asks impatiently.

"So what?"

"Do I still need to order you an Uber?"

Your silence makes her slap the table, practically sending Marcus through the roof as she crows, "I knew it! My sister has a sugar daddy!"

Curse you Silco!

"Shut up."

But even you can't bury the grin as you dip your head and get back to your breakfast.

Chapter Text

Saturday, October 9

4:00p.m.

“Yo!”

“Huh?” You grunt from the bathroom, in the middle of drawing a somewhat clumsy line of eyeliner along the lid of your right eye.

“Your chauffeur's at the door!”

“My chau- oh! Uh, be right out!” 

It’s even more difficult to finish the liner now that your hand is shaking from an influx of nerves. 

You really are going to dinner with Silco, and the entire board of directors. That means you’ll be surrounded by the same snobby, self-important elitists you served coffee to only a week and a half ago. At least this time you'll feel a little less like a peasant, going as Jinx’s plus one, and you don’t have to serve any coffee. Tonight, the only thing that matters is Jinx.

And that Silco's happy, of course, because you're also kind of going at his request. For his daughter. Because Silco cares about her, and he knows Jinx likes you, so you're the best choice for cheering her up.

So you going has nothing to do with him.

Nope. Not even a little bit.

Not at all.

Your hand inexplicably twitches, ruining the liner.

"Mother trucker!"

The damage is bad enough that in order to fix it you either have to make the eyeliner cover half your eyelid, or take it all off with a Q-tip and start over. You’re pretty sure you don’t have time to fix it, so you bite the bullet and pretend you were going for a smokey eye in the first place. It works out alright, and after inspecting your half-hurried work in the mirror you make sure all the bruises along your cheek are still covered up, pull the chintzy robe closer around you, and head to the living room.

“Hi, Thomas! I’m so sorry for the wait. I'll be done by 4:30, I swear.”

“Don't worry about it,” Thomas says with a respectful tilt of his head. “I came early since I thought you’d need some time to get into the dress.”

He places a box into your arms.

“There’s shoes inside too, and a few pieces of jewelry.”

Woah. What fairy tale have I fallen into?

"Cool. Thanks."

Allie is wearing a devilish grin. You’re afraid of the conversation that might happen after you’re gone, but again, you don’t have time to deliver a stern warning. You settle for giving her the stink eye before turning on your heel to head to your room. “I’ll be out soon.” 

“Take your time,” Allie calls after you. “Me and Thomas are getting along just fine out here.”

You grit your teeth and kick the bedroom door closed behind you.

You’d been given no information regarding what Silco would choose for you, so you haven’t done anything to your hair except wash and blow dry it. Once you have the dress on, you hope there’ll be enough time to do a quick up-do.

The shoes lying on top of white tissue paper are familiar, being the Louis Vuittons Jinx let you wear for the painting session. As for the accessories, Silco apparently decided to supply you with half the jewelry stores in Zaun. There are three choices for necklaces, four for bracelets, and two pairs of earrings, all of which look stupid expensive. And impressive, which might have been the point.

Silco must want you to make an impression.

But the thing is, if you wear any of these items you'll be too worried about losing them, and the whole point of you going is to make sure Jinx is having a good time.

Yet you don't want to be rude. Silco obviously took great care in choosing the jewels.

You bite your lip and go for the simplest item you can find: large ruby stud earrings.

There. That should satisfy him.

As for the dress itself... 

You hold it up in front of you to look at in the closet mirror.

The dress is oddly understated. It's a knee length charcoal black bodycon with long sleeves and a winged collar. The only pop of color is the triangular cherry red panel being held in place at the left collarbone by a single golden button.

For such a a simple design, it really is stunning. And Thomas was right when he said you’d need some time to get into the dress. The fabric is just loose enough to pretend to be accommodating, but stiff enough to require an interpretive dance in order to squeeze your hips past the waistline. And after that struggle is finished you still have to face the dreaded zipper. 

Like most women’s fashion, it’s extremely difficult to reach without help, an annoying fact that you try to bypass by pretending you’re a contortionist. One minute later you give up, red in the face and sore fingered from failing to coax the impossibly small zipper beyond the dead middle of your back.

Admitting defeat, you call for your sister’s help.

Her face, when she arrives, is priceless. 

“What the H? Who are you, and what have you done to my slouchy little sister?”

“Hey, I’m not slouchy! I’m chill and approachable. There’s a difference. Now help me please.”

You’re zipped up in short order, and turn to face her. You feel yourself getting shy under her sharp scrutiny.

“Well?”

“You realize he’s dressed you like a bond woman, right?”

“What? No he didn’t!”

She snorts. “He so did. The collar though, it reminds me of –”

You point at her. “Luke Skywalker!”

“Return of the Jedi!”

“Ha!”

You both grin.

“Okay, but seriously, you look positively villainous. Your man really knows how to make a fashion statement.”

You turn away to the mirror, flustered. “Please Allie, he’s not my man.”

“Oh yeah? Then what is he?”

“He’s just… He’s my boss who thinks he owes me because I helped… because I’m a good friend to his daughter.”

“Oh, yeah, sure, whatever you say.”

She gives you a significant look as she picks up a black velvet case. Inside it what looks suspiciously like a Cartier necklace she'd been drooling over in a magazine last month.

You cross your arms.

She snaps it shut and tosses it back on the bed. "Just look at the facts. In the short time you’ve known him The Eye of Zaun, a man who is well known for being a mysterious hermit, has invited you into his life and given you free access to his daughter, his business, and his personal driver.”

When she puts it like that, you can almost allow yourself to believe there’s something happening under the surface between you and Silco. That unspoken thing.

Treacherous, treasonous hope swells in your heart. You let it blossom only for a moment before stamping it down. 

She wasn’t there when you helped Jinx. She didn’t see Silco's pain, or hear his confession. She didn't understand that Silco’s offer tonight had nothing to do with you, and everything to do with his daughter.

You are nothing but an asset. 

An investment.

“What about this dress?”

“What about it?”

“It fits you perfectly. Did you tell him your dimensions, or did he figure that out himself?"

For a flickering moment you remember the first time you met. He certainly took the length and breadth of you then. Not to mention the night you wore that red dress.

Butterflies box around in your stomach as you raise your chin.

“Jinx is super good at guessing sizes. He probably just asked for her help.”

“Come on sis, don't be stupid. Just admit it. He’s paying more attention to you than you think.”

“Of course he is," You reply stubbornly. "That’s what makes him Silco. He pays attention, and not just to me, but to everyone.”

“You keep telling yourself that.”

“Thank you, I will.”

She heaves a sigh of defeat. “Do you need help with your hair?”

“I'll probably just throw it up into chopsticks. I’ve got those two black ones with the mother of pearl inlays.”

“Perfect. And lipstick?”

“I’ve got that red one you bought me for Christmas last year.”

“Good choice. That color makes you look ultra kissable.” She puckers her lips and sashays from your bedroom. “Now don’t be long, you don’t want to keep him waiting.”

You scoff.

Insufferable.

You twist your hair up and form an easy updo, tugging on a few hairs to frame your face. As you look in the mirror, the butterflies return. You hardly look like your usual, athleisure self. Even with all the mistakes you made with the eyeliner, you look fierce.

Untouchable.

Like a bond woman, doomed to die.

Or maybe you could just, you know, fake your death and live a long and happy life with the international man of mystery.

I wish.

You apply a few finishing touches before carefully packing up the box with it's priceless jewels, and sliding it into your closet. When you enter the living room a few minutes later, Thomas whistles.

"Lookin' good Miss Ross!"

The compliment has you glowing.

"Thanks. You don't think it's a bit... much?"

"Absolutely not. You've never seen the board during these types of shindigs, always trying to out peacock each other. Not one of those boardmembers can pretend you don't deserve to be a part of their club tonight. Not even Mr. golden grill himself."

You assume he means Finn.

"You'll put them all to shame," Allie says, pulling you into a careful hug. "Text me when you're on your way home tonight, will ya? I'll probably be out of the house when you get home."

"Where are you going?"

"The Last Drop! I've been craving some Shimmer, and some of the girls from the shop invited me to go, so I thought I'd see what your sug... er, boss, has going on over there."

You roll your eyes. "Okay. Well don't drink too much, and if Cal's bartending tell him I said hi."

"Of course. Have fun babe!"

“You’re late.”

“Sorry boss, there was traffic on Main, just like you said. The entire college is on the town tonight.”

“No matter, we still have plenty of time. Come Jinx.”

You strain to see Silco out the darkened sedan window, but he’s too tall, and you’re sitting on the right side of the car. You can see Jinx pretty clearly. Her arms are crossed over her bare midriff, revealing blue cloud tattoos you’ve never noticed before. They float along her right rib cage, and hover between the hem of her shirt and a low slung, purple striped skirt. 

The door opens, and Jinx slips in looking pale and subdued. Rather than meet your gaze she tips her head so her bangs hide her face from view. 

You hear the front passenger door open, and Silco’s head appears. The car fills with the scent of cloves and spices.

You breathe in deep, enjoying the smell. 

Focus. You’re here for Jinx.

You look sideways at the girl, who’s arms are still crossed around her stomach, and is staring resolutely at the floor. 

“Hi,” You say into the burgeoning silence.

A slight tilt of the head is all you get in response.

“You look cute. I wish I’d worn my boots tonight. I can already tell these shoes are going to kill me.”

Nothing.

You push on with determination as Thomas starts to drive.

“So I went to Kelling’s Escape Room yesterday, the one right across the river. There were some portraits on the walls that made me think of you. They looked like something you would paint. Creepy, but absolutely gorgeous.”

“I did paint them.”

She says it so low you almost miss it.

“What?”

“The portrait of the red-headed man and Moriarty. I painted them.”

“Seriously? How did you get that gig?”

“I take chemistry with the girl who works there, and Silco knows her dad. He commissioned me to paint a bunch of stuff for his business.”

“Wow,” You say, though somehow you’re not surprised. 

You’re beginning to realize more and more that Cal was right. Silco knows everyone, and exists everywhere. 

“Well they're amazing. My sister refused to let me help solve the room, so I spent most of my time looking at them, finding all the tiny details you’d put in. I especially liked the goat with the sweater.”

She’s finally turning towards you, her left eye barely visible, along with a tentative smile.

“Have you ever done that escape room?”

“They let me be the first to test it. I got through in 55 minutes.”

You laugh. “Of course you did! My sister almost went insane trying to beat your time. That shooting game really pushed her back though. She refused to let anyone else have the gun.”

“That was the easiest part for me. Silco and I go to the shooting range a few times a month. I’ve always been good with a handgun, but he makes sure I know how to disassemble and reassemble military spec rifles and things like that.”

“Wow. You’re way cooler than I ever was at your age.”

She shrugs as if it’s nothing, but you can tell she’s pleased. “I can also make modified hand grenades.”

This little nugget of news is almost as delightful as it is disconcerting.

“You know what? I was wrong. You’re actually way cooler than I’ll ever be in my entire life.”

“That’s kind of sad,” She raises her voice. “Alexa, play I’m a Loser.”

“Playing I’m a Loser, by Three Doors Down.”

“You little punk!” You laugh as a mournful electric guitar solo starts to fill the car. “Alexa, belay that!”

“Belay that? What are you, a pirate?”

“So what if I am? Get off my booty girl!”

You close one eye and shake a hooked finger at her, knowing full well how stupid you look. But it has the desired effect.

Her snort echoes through the cab, and she covers her face with an exaggerated groan.

“Oh my gosh, that was so lame!”

“Yarr ain’t heard nothing yet sister.” 

You smother a smug grin as she collapses against your shoulder in a mad fit of cackles. 

You catch Thomas’ eye in the rear view mirror. He sends you a wink and a nod, giving you a rush of satisfaction.

Phase 1: Cheer up Jinx, complete.

Phase 2: Somehow keep her happy for the rest of the night...

Currently in progress.

“So, you had to come to this fancy dinner tonight huh?”

“Yeah," Jinx links her arm with yours before pulling her phone out of thin air. "Smile!"

You barely manage to put one on before she's snapped a picture and starts typing madly.

"I’m technically a shareholder for some of dad’s companies so I gotta be there and pretend that I care.”

“Oh. Okay, so what you’re really telling me is that you’re Batman.”

“Basically.”

“What does that make Sevika?”

“Bucky Barnes.”

“Because of her arm?”

“Because there’s a series of words you can recite that turn her into a mindless assassin.”

You laugh. “What words?”

“I can’t tell you or she’d have to kill you.”

You snort. “That’s fair. Who’s Thomas?”

“Thomas is Falcon because, duh! He’s a good person who used to fly drones for the airforce.”

“You did?”

“Sure, it’s how I met the boss. We ran in similar circles.”

“Huh. So who’s the boss then?” You ask slyly, determined to draw the hitherto silent mogul into the conversation.

He doesn't bite.

“He’s Nick Fury, obviously,” Jinx says, without raising her eyes from her phone screen. “What with the eye and the power tripping and that annoying thing he does where he pretends to be invincible.”

“Do you mean to tell me that your dad isn’t invincible?”

“Trust me, he’s got weaknesses like any other man. I can actually tell you what they are, starting with --”

“Before you finish that sentence,” Silco cuts in with a dangerously pleasant tone. “I would remind you that you are a minor, and I still have the power to take away your toys, up to and including a certain concert ticket you begged me to purchase for you three months ago.”

The first genuine look of alarm you’ve ever seen crosses her face. “You wouldn’t!”

“I will, if you choose not to turn the current course of this conversation.”

He's turned his head slightly in order to reprimand her, revealing more of his head and part of his profile.

You realize he's recently gotten a haircut. The fade is sharp, and the styling reminds you of Thomas Shelby.

Why do you have to be so hot?

You heave a silent sigh. “It doesn’t matter, we still have plenty of people to go through. What do you think about Marcus?”

That snaps her out of her sulk.

“Marcus? Who thinks about Marcus?”

“Well I do, recently.”

“What? Why? What on earth does he have that’s even worth anything? I mean the man's a total stick in the mud!”

Her vehemence takes you aback. “I don’t really know yet. He’s dating my sister, so I guess I’ll find out soon enough.”

Her relief is so obvious, it’s almost comical. “Oh good. I thought you were going to say you were dating Marcus, and that would be bad because – ”

“Jinx.” Silco murmurs.

“... Because he’s boring and not even worth your time. Anyway, you’re Phil Coulson.”

Hm. That sounds like something you definitely want to investigate later. Especially considering the way you can see Silco tensing in the front seat.

Even though you're almost dying from curiosity, you figure now's not the time to push for an answer. It's probably best to let the comment slide and circle back around to it at a later date.

Maybe when he's not around to interrupt and threaten his daughter.

“Okay I give. Why am I Phil Coulson?”

“Because you’re fearless and hilarious.”

“Oh, nice. But I wouldn't say I’m fearless.”

“Well you aren’t scared of my dad, and pretty much everyone else is.”

“Technically he hasn’t given me a reason to be afraid of him. I’ve also had Sevika as my boss for two years, so I’ve learned how to deal with… exacting personalities.”

“Tactfully put,” Silco’s voice is flat, but you swear you can hear a hint of amusement.

“But you still tried to help me when I was screaming and yelling and throwing things around my studio, and if that’s not fearless I don’t know what is.”

You nod, slowly.

“It’s true. But in my defense I didn’t know you could make grenades. Now that I do, I think I’ll start bringing my riot gear around, just in case.”

Jinx’s cackles are positively madcap, bringing a smug grin back to your face as you turn to look out the window.

I'm so good at this.

However your newfound confidence is just as quickly lost when, ten minutes later, you pull up to the front door of The Fissures.

Thomas puts the car in park.

"Good luck in there," He says over his shoulder as Silco exits the car.

You nod, too nervous to reply.

I'm going to need every ounce of luck I can get.

Chapter Text

Saturday, October 9

8:00 p.m.

He hasn’t taken his eyes off of you all night.

Not Silco, of course. The Eye of Zaun had been met by Sevika at the door of The Fissures as soon as you arrived, and for the last two hours has been locked in a series of long conversations with various board members.

You are, in fact, referring to none other than Charles Rodriguez.

You’re not sure why he’s here considering he has nothing to do with the college, but maybe he came as Finn’s plus one. The two certainly have been glued to each other’s side all evening (Except for Charles’ gaze, which has been glued to you). 

At first you thought it was a fluke. Every time you looked around you just so happened to catch his eye. But after the fourth, fifth, and sixth unwelcome infraction, you’ve come to the conclusion that he’s doing it on purpose. 

Silco, meanwhile, is doing everything he can to avoid you. 

Or at least, it feels like he is. Whether it be by design or the luck of the draw, he’s always out of view or is positioned in such a way that you can’t see his face. Like at dinner he’d been on the other side of Jinx, and right now as he’s leaning against the metal railing overlooking the floor below, face firmly turned away.

You bury a sigh.

You can see Sevika just fine, who’s standing, arms crossed, next to Silco. The two of them are in a deep discussion with Herchel Chross — one of the oldest and creepiest board members you’ve had the misfortune to meet. You’ve never seen the man without a pair of tiny, evil-overlord glasses on his colossal face.

From what you understand The Fissures belongs to Chross, and you grudgingly admit that he has good taste. The three level factory was once used to mass produce canned goods, but is now being used as a hub for niche shopping, dining, and entertainment. Much of the heavy machinery left behind at the factory’s closure had been cleaned up and repurposed as decorations, and the enormous machine parts now drip from the ceiling like the mammothine bones of monsters from the past. 

It really boggles the mind that someone so grotesque could design something with such an atmosphere of ingenuity and cool. It just goes to show you that you can never judge a book by its cover.

Except for Charles. 

You’re 1000% sure that man is as empty on the inside as his smile is on the outside.

“This is horrible,” Jinx moans dramatically. “When will this boredom ever end?”

For once you actually share her opinion of the situation, although insufferable seems like a more fitting word. Somewhere below a live band has been playing, their upbeat tunes wafting up to the third floor in tantalizing waves. 

You figure the desire to get a closer listen is a good enough excuse to leave the party (and get a break from Charles' constant stare).

You look at Jinx with a smile. “I don’t know about you, but I want to see what’s going on downstairs.”

The girl perks up immediately.

“And this is my first time here, so maybe you can show me around the place.” 

She’s on her feet in an instant. “Like you even have to ask? There’s this amazing stall that sells loaded fries and I think we should get some because I’m starving.” 

“Me too.”

Though delicious, dinner hadn’t exactly been satisfying.

You drop your fork (which you’d been using to stab at the sad pile of arugula on your plate for the last half hour), and as you rise to your feet you look towards Silco once more. His back is still turned, but Sevika’s watching you like a hawk. If you didn’t know her so well you would have been scared out of your wits by the narrowed, predatory look in her eye, but you recognize it instantly for what it is: desperation.

The woman looks like a caged tiger. And considering she’s a literal garbage disposal, if you’re hungry that means she has to be ravenous.

You jerk your head towards the stairs as an invitation. 

She mutters something to Silco, whose reply is apparent when she immediately stomps your direction.

“Hey.” 

“I don’t care what you want to do, first stop is Wild Wings.”

Good ol’ Sevika. 

You stifle a grin as you follow her down the stairs. “Sounds good to me. We were going to get some fries anyway.”

“Then we’re going to the arcade!” Jinx adds excitedly.

“Why, so you can whoop her ass at Time Crisis 3?”

“Well yeah, but not just hers. Yours too. Last I checked I’m still the undefeated champion.”

“Till tonight, when I wipe your skinny ass across the floor.”

Jinx seems uncowed by the threat as she bounces along. “We’ll see.”

“Damn it!” Sevika barks as the screen in front of her initiates a respawn countdown.

She shoves the gun into your hands before folding her arms with a scowl.

You hurriedly slip in more coins and rejoin the game. That was Sevika’s second, and this is your third attempt while Jinx hasn’t died yet. 

“Don’t let it get you down Vicki. I think you're getting better.”

"You're an arrogant little shit, you know that?” 

"I think what you mean to say is that I’m a lean, mean, killing machine who is the shit." 

Sevika lets out a snort of derision and says, “Yeah, whatever”, before the ding of an alert tone momentarily pulls her attention to her phone.

After a few seconds she grunts. “Looks like you’re back to babysitting on your own. The boss needs me.”

“Not a problem,” You flinch instinctively as you get shot. “We’ll probably be here all night. Well, Jinx will be anyway.”

“Yeah, good luck with that."

The sound of her boots fades quickly in the noise of the arcade.

“Gosh dang it,” You mutter as you take another hit.

Despite your best efforts, slowly, inevitably, your health bar lowers. Meanwhile Jinx is at the top of her game.

It's embarrassing. Deep down you know that you’re a better than average gamer, but next to her you look like a filthy casual.

You throw up your hands when death once again claims you.

“Mind if I step in?”

You turn to face the owner of the voice, a boy around Jinx's age who’s leaning casually against a pinball machine behind you. His arms are crossed over the front of baggy overalls, and white dreads spill in front of soulful eyes and a crooked grin. 

You look from the boy to Jinx, and something about her expression makes you offer him the gun.

“Be my guest.”

He pushes off the machine, and after slipping his coins in the slot assumes a split leg stance. His eyes narrow in concentration as his game begins.

“You come here often?” Jinx asks.

You raise an eyebrow at the girl. 

You’ve never heard her sound so stiff.

“On and off. Mostly to see if I can beat your high score.”

“And have you?”

“Nope. Not yet.”

Her grin is feral. "Good."

The charged silence is filled with a cacophony of violence. The two teens work in tandem, shooting so fast you can hardly keep track of who's killing who. They don't speak, but as you watch them progress from one level to the next with apparent ease, you realize that this is something they’ve done before.

In less than thirty minutes they’ve beaten the game.

You enthusiastically clap along with the small mob of middle schoolers who had gathered around to watch them play.

After a smirk and a bow Jinx slips her gun into its holster as says, “You never replied to my message.” 

“Sorry. Been busy.”

She crosses her arms. “So?”

“So what?”

“Are you going to come to my show or not?”

“Course.”

She visibly relaxes.

“Will your dad be there?”

“Do you even have to ask that?”

He shrugs. “Can’t always tell with your old man. He’s always busy grinding, building up his dynasty. Speaking of, he still trying to pass that bill?”

“If you’re just here to talk about Silco I’m not interested. He's right up there. You can ask him yourself.”

“Trust me, I will. But not now,” He grins, revealing rows of perfect teeth. “So you gonna introduce me to your new friend, or do I have to introduce myself?”

Jinx says your name quickly. “And this is Ekko.”

Thomas’ son?

You should have known. 

He looks just like his father. Stands like him too, and gives off the same air of confidence, though he wears his with a bit more… pizzazz than Thomas.

He raises his chin. “Hey.”

“Hey. I really like your dad. He seems like a great man.”

“He is. And more so for putting up with her daddy night and day.”

Jinx’s eyes narrow. "Watch it." 

You blink in surprise.

Given that Jinx was adopted, she and her father have few features in common. But for a moment, those words and that expression reminded you entirely of Silco.

He throws up his hands in surrender. "Alright, you know I respect the man. Him and I just don't see eye to eye on certain things."

"On most things." She replies, though with less ire than before.

"Yeah, you right,” He ducks his head. “You know it's great to see you Jinx. Really. I wish we could hang more often, but…."

“You’re busy,” She shuffles her feet. “I get it.”

For a moment there’s awkwardness between them.

“But you’re here now.” You say, and those words seem to shake them out of it.

“Yeah. And we still have to finish that dance battle you promised me last year.”

He grins. "DDR, best two out of three?"

"You know it. You in toots?"

You wave her away. "You guys go ahead. This dress isn't really made for that kind of thing. I have to use the restroom anyway, I'll just meet you over there when I'm done."

“‘Kay.”

You watch them saunter away. Ekko’s playing it pretty cool, with his hands shoved in his pockets, and Jinx is swinging her arms around wildly as she talks. Her laughter is tinged with nerves, and her head is bobbing around as if she can’t decide whether to look at him or not.

You smile to yourself.

Ah young love.

Looks like Thomas was right. There might be something there after all.

Chapter Text

October 9, Saturday (Part 2)

9:30 p.m.

The line for the bathroom downstairs is so long that you choose to gamble, and brave the climb to the second floor. You snake around the band, and the couples swing dancing across the landing, only to find a line equally as long as the one below. But at this point you figure, why waste a perfectly good climb? 

Ten minutes come and go before you make it into a stall, and another five is spent fighting against the flow of the crowd to reenter the arcade. Ekko and Jinx aren’t at the DDR pads when you arrive, or anywhere else for that matter. After circling the place twice, you pull out your phone to check for texts. 

Instead you see an instagram story has been added by Jinx. 

You hit the notification.

At first glance, it looks like she and Ekko have gotten cozy for a picture together. The girl’s hugging the smirking boy from behind, her head resting on his shoulder, a peace sign thrown up in front of a winking eye. But you notice Ekko’s wearing a thick leather jacket while Jinx is clutching a dark visored helmet.  And just visible in the corner of the shot, a gloved hand is resting on what appears to be a handlebar.

Panic strikes like lightning.

Oh no.

Jinx is barely a day out from having a violent panic attack, and the second you let her out of your sight, she jumps onto the back of a motorcycle with a boy you hardly know? 

This is bad.

The only reason you’re here is to take care of Jinx, and you’ve failed. 

As you send the girl a panicked text, you wonder, 

What’s Silco going to say when you tell him you’ve lost his daughter?

Probably nothing good. 

Even though there’s only a small, outside chance the two teens are still around, you know it would be in your best interest to check the place thoroughly. Your anxiety builds as you search the entire building from top to bottom and left to right, starting at the parking lot.

Several minutes later, out of breath and sweating, you can confirm first hand that they’re gone.

You open your phone to check your texts when you see another story has been posted. This time it’s a video, and you watch it with mounting horror. It’s pretty bad quality, but Jinx’s manic laughter can just be heard over the sound of an engine, confirming your worst fear that she’s on the move.

You drop into the nearest chair and put your head in your hands. 

What do you do now?

Hope and pray that she texts you back sometime in this century so you won’t die of a panic attack, and (more importantly) you’ll have something to give Silco when he asks where his daughter is at the end of the night.

Oh hey Silco! Where's Jinx you ask? Well, your emotionally damaged daughter jumped on the back of a motorcycle with a boy the second I went to the bathroom to touch up my lipstick, and I decided to wait until now to tell you.

You chew on your nails.

On second thought, maybe you shouldn't wait till the end of the night. He won’t thank you for withholding this kind of information. 

You stand somewhat unsteadily, and wipe away a bead of sweat from your brow as you weave your way towards the stairs behind the bandstand. 

Maybe you can talk to Sevika first. You think desperately. 

Jinx has probably done this kind of before. Sevika will know what to do, or hopefully have advice on how best to approach Silco about it.

Armed with a plan you round a corner, and run head first into a suit.

As you stagger back, hands reach out to steady you. “Woah there!”

“I’m so sorry I – Oh, it’s you.” 

You stare with dismay up into the amused face of Charles Rodriguez. “It certainly is. Sorry to catch you by surprise. I didn’t hurt you did I?”

“I’m fine.”

“Good.”

After you wrestle yourself out of his grasp, he scratches his head. 

“You know, this is kind of embarrassing. I’ve been watching you all night trying to figure out why I recognized you, but I’ve only just remembered. You’re the girl from Silco’s office, aren’t you?” 

He spent hours staring at you, and he only just realized?

The gall.

“Yep. That’s me.”

He grins. “I knew there was something about your scowl that I recognized.”

You resist the urge to demonstrate said scowl once again. 

“You were pretty territorial about that office.”

“Well you were snooping around in the dark.”

He chuckles. “You got me there. But I guess you’ve got every right to be territorial about Silco’s things, since you're his girl.”

You gape at him. 

You? Silco’s girl? Where did he get that?

These and so many other questions are burning inside you, but you refuse to ask them.

“I’m not his girl.”

“Aren’t you?”

Your face inexplicably starts to burn. "Nope.”

"Interesting. In that case, how about a dance?”

“I can’t. I need to find Sevika.”

“Ah, that’s where you were going in such a hurry. Well I hate to disappoint you but I just saw her leave the building on a phone call. Something to do with the brewery. Take it from me, those calls can last a while.”

He extends his hand with a perfect grin. “Humor me, will you? I think we got off on the wrong foot, and I’d like the chance to start over.”

You stare around in desperation, hoping for something (or someone) to rescue you from having to endure dancing with this man. Unfortunately no one appears, and you're not quick enough to conjure up an excuse before he takes your silence as acquiesence, grabs your hand, and drags you onto the dance floor. As it so happens the band is starting another song, this one slow. Charles is extremely muscled beneath his expensive looking suit, so when he locks you into his arms you have no place to go. The best you can do is avert your eyes so you don’t have to stare into his stupidly handsome face.

Heavy on the stupid.

“You know, I never caught your name.”

You grit your teeth.

Because Charles looks the way he does, he's drawing a lot of undue attention, so unfortunately you can’t get out of this without causing a scene. You’ll have to humor him until the song ends. If he refuses to let you go, then maybe you can stomp on his foot with your extremely pointed heel to force the issue.

With that violence to look forward to, you manage to say your name.

“And I heard you’ve been working at the coffee shop for what, two years?”

“Mhm.”

“It’s a wonder Silco didn’t notice you before.”

“He’s rarely there. Sevika runs the day to day operations of the shop.”

“So how did you meet?”

You heave an irritated sigh, but immediately regret it when his tropical cologne overwhelms your senses.

Your sniff as your eyes start to water. “He was uh… working in the lobby one night while I was closing the shop, and we had a conversation. Sevika wanted the brewery, and I was the most logical choice to take over her job.”

“Really? And why is that?”

“I had the most experience.”

“So it was luck of the draw, huh?” 

“Hm.”

The band is playing a loung-ey rendition of “I Put a Spell On You”. You really wish they’d stop with the horn solos and pick up the tempo.

“Well, I guess it doesn’t matter why you got the job. Clearly you’ve got what it takes or the boss wouldn’t have picked you. You’re a true dark horse.”

You raise your eyes to the ceiling.

Can this song be any longer?

For three blessed seconds there’s only the music. 

Then, “Finn tells me your sister’s dating Marcus.”

You eye him suspiciously. For not being able to recognize you, he sure knows a lot about your life.

“Such a cute couple. Though in my opinion she shouldn’t put all her eggs in that basket.”

“Really.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I like the man. He’s a good officer. But if he has to make a choice between your sister and his career, he’ll choose his career every time.”

“Good to know.”

“You don’t have to take it from me. Ask his ex, or his sponsor. He might have a thing or two to say about his choice of partner.”

“Sponsor?” 

The question leaks out before you have the self-control to stop it.

Charles grins. “Sounds like Marcus forgot to tell you he owes Silco his career. Not that there’s any shame in that. Most people in this town owe him in some way or another, including me, and so will you as soon as you take over The Last Drip. What did he ask for, when he gave you the job?”

You bristle. “Nothing. He hasn’t asked for anything.”

“He never does. But you and I both know the boss is no philanthropist. He’s an investor, and by the looks of things, he’s poured a lot into you already.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He cocks his head to the side. “Those earrings are Tiffany, aren’t they?”

“I don’t know. I borrowed them.”

You know immediately that was the wrong thing to say when his smile broadens. “What do you think he’ll ask for when it’s time to collect? Or maybe you’ve already come to a different kind of arrangement.”

You stare at him. “I’m sorry, what?”

“It’s a big promotion to become manager of one of Silco’s businesses. It’s got a lot of us wondering how you did it.”

The snare drum fills your head with white noise as you try to unravel his meaning. Then, when you finally put two and two together, you choke out a laugh.

“Are you kidding me?”

Of all the things you could have said, he clearly wasn’t expecting that. He looks completely taken aback.

You can't hold back your snickers.

You should probably feel offended at the insinuation, but it sounds too much like a joke. What kind of idiot looks at Silco and imagines he would ever sleep with one of his employees in exchange for favors? The man is an island, protected by mile high walls topped in barbed wire and machine guns. He would never be stupid enough to compromise himself and his business like that. 

When you finally get a hold of yourself you manage to say, ”Did you ever think that maybe I got the promotion because I’m actually qualified for the job?”

He opens his mouth, then closes it. Then a moment later he opens it again, no doubt to say something which he hopes will dazzle you into forgetting this conversation ever happened, when a velvety voice surprises you both from behind.

Your heart jumps at the sight of Silco, eyepatch, scowl, velvet suit, and all.

“I hope I’m not interrupting something important.”

Charles’ smile is brilliant. “Silco! You have excellent timing.”

“Yes, my competitors call it the killer instinct.” 

A giggle escapes you. When Silco’s flashing eye flickers your direction you raise a hand to stifle it.

Get a hold of yourself!

“You aren’t interested in taking over for me, are you?" Charles asks sheepishly. "I think I might have had one too many daiquiris. They’re really starting to get to my head.”

“They don't seem to have affected your feet.”

Is that irritation in his voice?

“You know me boss. I could still samba even if I’m drowning in rum,” The man steps aside and offers you a strange salute. “Thanks for the dance. You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

“And so have you.”

He slips his hands into his pockets as he starts to back away. “Guess I'll see you around.”

"Whether I want you to or not."

For a moment he looks between you and Silco, and something glitters in his gaze that you can’t quite place — Confusion, maybe? Curiosity? — then he nods and walks away.

You consider him as he disappears into the crowd.

What was it Silco said? The key to removing a man's power over you is understanding his motivations? 

Well it looks like you've found out what motivates Charles.

Trying to get dirt on Silco.

“Seems as though Rodriguez may have convinced you to change your mind about him.”

“Oh no. That will be a cold day in hell.”

This draws some kind of sound from Silco, which pulls your fractured attention back to the man standing in front of you. Or the man holding you, rather. At some point you’d started dancing and hadn’t realized it. 

“You appeared to be having a rather lively conversation.”

“Yes, one which I would gladly have committed a felony to escape.”

“Really," He deadpans.

“Yeah. Charles was under the impression that I’d slept my way to becoming manager of The Last Drip.”

“And what did you tell him?”

“That he was absolutely right.”

He eyes you sharply.

You grin, and some of the iciness melts from his expression. 

“Of course I told him it was the most ridiculous thing I’d ever heard. I mean first of all, who would bother to sleep with their boss just to become manager of a coffee shop? I’d like to believe I’d have a little more ambition and self-respect than that.”

A smirk tilts the corner of his mouth. “You would.”

“Thank you. But what I really want to know is, why was that his first thought? The man’s obviously out of touch with reality. Unless that’s how he got his job at the brewery.”

Several seconds pass before you realize what you’ve said.

His right eyebrow is rises at the same time a flush rises to your cheeks.

Oh lord have mercy on me, an idiot.

“That’s a very serious accusation.”

A smirk is hovering at the corner of his mouth, removing some of the sting.

“I… that was obviously a joke. I mean I don’t really…” You close your eyes with a weak laugh. “Tonight is just not my night.” 

“Though I know a few men who might consider such an avenue for dolling out promotions, I believe it is ultimately an unprofitable way to conduct business. There are complications enough without adding blackmail into the mess."

”Exactly," You rush to say, relieved. "And that's what I told him. Workplace relationships can be so messy.”

“Only if they aren't treated with the proper care."

He says it so casually, it actually surprises you. His face betrays no emotion other than cool disinterest.

"So you're telling me you might consider a workplace relationship?"

"Perhaps, perhaps not. But if I were, I would never choose Rodriguez. He isn’t really my type.”

Then who is your type?

“That’s a relief."

He looks amused.

You feel your cheeks heat again. "I mean I’d expect you to have better taste than Charles Rodriguez. The man thinks short sleeve flamingo shirts qualify as formal wear.”

He laughs, and it takes you so off guard that you overtly ogle him. You’re pretty sure it’s the first genuine laugh you’ve ever heard from him. Or seen, for that matter. His eye crinkles nicely at the corner and his scars stretch, revealing a flash of white between thin lips.

You've never noticed the gap between his front teeth before.

It makes him look quite young.

And so vulnerable.

You lament the moment he locks it away behind smirking lips.

“You're absolutely right.”

You and Silco are one of only a few couples slowly rotating under the bright bars of fluorescent lights. His arm remains steady at your waist while the other guides you around the floor. It's a surprisingly easy place to be, and you find yourself naturally relaxing into his arms.

This is nice.

Dancing with Charles had been like dancing with a marble statue, but with Silco it feels simple. 

He leads, and there’s nothing you can do but follow.

Chapter Text

October 9, Saturday (Part 3)

9:55 p.m. (???)

“Jinx appears to be doing well tonight.”

And with those few words you jolt back to planet earth. You stumble and little, and Silco’s arm tightens around your waist.

How could you possibly have forgotten about Jinx?

Because you’re dancing with her scar-faced, gap-toothed, scoundrel of a father!

“The first few days after her violent episodes are the most unpredictable. It’s been a relief for me to know I have someone capable watching over her.”

The leaden weight in your stomach sinks lower. All that spinning you're doing is suddenly making you feel queasy.

“Has she given you any trouble?”

“Not a lot, no.”

“You have a calming effect on her. I must ask, what is your secret?”

“I wish I knew,” You answer with a single, nervous laugh. “Hey Silco, about your daughter…”

“Yes, I was just about to ask. Where is she?”

“I’m not sure.”

His brows knit together. “You’re not sure.”

Probably could have said that better.

You wince. “I just mean that Jinx left.”

“She left.”

It’s hard to keep your cool when his eye is sparking at you like a flint. 

“She met a friend while we were down in the arcade, and when I excused myself to use the restroom she left with him.”

“Him?”

“Thomas’ son, Ekko.”

You had hoped this piece of information would calm him, but this only serves to agitate him more. His hand moves from your waist to your elbow as he propels you off the floor. 

“When did they leave?”

“About fifteen minutes ago,” You gasp, struggling to keep up with his long strides. “I was on my way to tell Sevika when Charles stopped me.”

“You were going to tell Sevika before telling me?” He hisses.

“Well you’ve been busy tonight, and I thought — ”

“You thought what? That you could avoid getting into trouble if the news came from my trusted lieutenant?”

Your face reddens. “No! I was just trying to avoid causing unnecessary panic.”

Like this.

He doesn’t seem to have heard you. 

“I should have known this would happen.” He mutters, and you can’t help thinking the same thing, though for a completely different reason.

This is not going well.

He directs you into a relatively secluded corner of the room and pulls out his phone. You watch with growing apprehension as he begins to pace. 

“Sevika, contact Singed and put him on alert. We may have a situation on our hands.” 

“A situation?” You balk. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting?”

He ignores you. “No. Jinx has run off with the boy. Yes. Reactivate it immediately, and make sure Thomas is prepared to leave when I give the call.”

Reactivate what?

Whatever it is, it sounds drastic.

As soon as he hangs up you jump in. “Shouldn’t you wait to see if there’s a problem before running--?”

“You don’t know what that boy is capable of.”

“He seemed perfectly normal to me. I don’t think—”

“Precisely, you didn’t think.” 

He prowls forward until you’re practically toe to toe. Even though you’re almost equal in height he still manages to loom over you.

“I thought I’d made it perfectly clear what was expected of you," He snarls.

You stiffen. “You asked me to come and keep Jinx company, and I did. Capably, I might add.”

A tick develops in his cheek.

You struggle to keep your cool. “I don’t like that she ran off without telling me, but I can't be a jailer to a seventeen year old. She can take care of herself.”

“Under normal circumstances it might not be a problem, but in her current condition…”

“I've been with her all night, and there were no signs that she wasn’t in her right mind. There’s no reason to believe her and Ekko are going to get into trouble.”

“It’s not her that I’m worried about. That boy is nothing but trouble. And you let my daughter play into his hands.”

“Play into his hands? You act like Ekko's some kind of criminal mastermind. He's just a kid."

The corner of his mouth sinks lower as he frowns.

“She’s going to be fine, I promise.”

“You’re in no position to make any such promise,” He runs his fingers roughly through his hair. “How could you have let this happen?”

“Let it happen?” You scoff. “She didn’t even give me a chance to stop her! And even if I had been there, who’s to say I could have stopped her from leaving short of tying her to a chair?”

“I guess we’ll never know.”

You flush. “Are you actually making this situation my fault?”

“You are the adult I put you in charge of Jinx's well being, so yes, I’d say you are at fault.”

“If Jinx had just said something before she left, we could have avoided this situation.”

And this conversation.

“Are you trying to throw the blame on my daughter?”

“No! But you have to acknowledge that Jinx is a part of the problem.”

“She can’t help the way that she is.” 

You snort. “That's ridiculous. Jinx is one of the most intelligent teens I’ve ever met, and she’s just as capable of change as you and me. You have to let her accept the consequences of her own actions.”

“You don't get to tell me how to parent my child.”

“She’s not a child, Silco! The sooner you accept that, the sooner you can prepare her to be a functioning adult. You’re not doing her any favors by forcing me to take responsibility for her mistakes!”

“You have no idea what’s best for my daughter.”

“And neither do you, apparently!”

His eye glares dangerously under brooding brows.

You glare right back. “You’re not the only one who loves that girl, you know. You asked for my help, so let me help! This doesn't have to turn into a big thing. Let me try doing things my way.”

“Because that’s worked out well so far.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You raise your chin. “You know what they say about doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results, right?”

He snarls, and once again you're toe to toe, chest to heaving chest.

Tension fizzles in the air. 

Deep down you know that you should probably be afraid of that feral look in his eye, but you’ve gone past the point of reason. An explosive has been rigged, and both of you have the trigger. All it would take is one wrong move, and everything would go up in flames.

Go ahead, make my day.

“I was beginning to wonder if you got my message.”

In the millisecond it takes for you to register the text alert, the tension is diffused. Silco's eye shutters, and a stony mask takes the place of his sneer.

You stick your hand in your purse and yank out your phone to scowl at the incoming text.

“Hiya toots! No need to freak. Ekko wanted to see my studio but he didn’t have a lot of time so we decided to go home so I could show him some of my pieces for the show!!”

You read it twice before shoving the phone into Silco’s hand.

Read it and weep.

You watch as his face cycles through a stunning array of emotions. He takes a deep breath, and though it appears to take colossal effort, he manages to school his expression before handing the phone back without comment.

“Well,” You say stiffly as the silence stretches. “If we're done here, I’m going to head out.”

“Very well,” He looks up at the ceiling. “With the question of Jinx’s whereabouts resolved, I have time to attend to a few matters of business. It would probably be best if you found your own way home tonight.”

“Fine."

He's refusing to look at you, which is annoying but probably best for you both. The look on your face certainly doesn’t scream peace on earth and goodwill towards men. 

Why is it always like this?

The second you and Silco start to find equilibrium, something happens to throw things back into chaos.

And it’s always Jinx.

You turn on your heel and march away, frustration adding to the noise that grows as you reenter the bustle of The Fissures. You have no idea where you’re going, or how you’re going to get home.

Until you once again hear the faint voice of Obi-Wan, and feel your phone vibrate in your hands. It’s a text from your mom.

“I hope you’re having a good evening sweetheart! Are you still available for lunch tomorrow?”

The answer to all your problems immediately hits you.

You hit the call button.

“Hello sweetheart!”

“Hi mom. Are you doing anything right now?”

“Not really, no. Just watching a movie and starting a new puzzle.”

“Do you think you could come pick me up at The Fissures?”

“Absolutely. I just need five minutes to pull myself together and then I’ll be right over.”

“Thanks. And do you think I could stay the night at your house tonight?”

“Of course. Is everything alright?”

You’re embarrassed to feel your throat tightening up.

“No. Everything’s all wrong.”

A pause.

“Well you can tell me all about it on the drive home.”

Chapter Text

Saturday, October 9 (Pt. 3)

The script from your argument is already replaying in your mind the moment you stalk outside to wait for your mom. Thankfully it’s too cold to reasonably want to cry, so you simply fume. 

“You thought what? That you could avoid getting into trouble if the news came from my trusted lieutenant?”

“I thought I’d made it perfectly clear what was expected of you.”

You grit your teeth. Silco had no right to talk to you like that. And yet your own biting words follow you as you pace the other way across the wooden landing.

“Let me do things my way. ”

"Because that's worked out well so far."

"You're one to talk."

Your hands keep finding their way into your hair, most of which has long since escaped the chopsticks. You yank them out and start to fiddle with them as frustration melts into insecurity.

“You know what they say about doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results, right?”

You flinch. 

Did you really call Silco insane and a bad father in one five minute conversation?

But you weren’t wrong! He overreacted, and nothing is going to change if he won’t let go. And Jinx should know better than to run off without telling anyone by now.

Which is why Silco was afraid. Jinx is the one person he loves most, and the one person he can’t control. 

And he probably has no idea what to do about it.

You bite your lip and look back at the front door. Maybe you overreacted too. Maybe you should have had a little more compassion and understanding. Maybe if you go back inside, and apologize…

Your hand freezes on the door handle. 

But what if he doesn’t want to talk to you after this? And what if he decides he doesn’t want you to manage The Last Drip anymore?

You stand there, frozen, trying to talk yourself out of a tree until someone behind you clears their throat.

“Sorry,” You mutter, and you take a few hasty steps away from the door.

The group of strangers pass you with odd looks, and it’s enough to fluster you into a nearby chair.

If you're really thinking about it, now is probably not the best time to go back inside and plead your case with Silco. You’re not in a good frame of mind, and you’re just as likely to say something stupid as improve the situation.

You need time to think, and cool off.

You both do.

A car horn heralds the arrival of your mother, and you hurry down the steps towards a familiar dark blue sedan pulling up to the curb. Just before opening the passenger door you look up to the third story window, overlooking the parking lot. A figure stands silhouetted in the window, and your heart jumps for a moment before settling into disappointment. 

It’s just Charles.

For a moment you search the other windows, hoping that Silco might appear, but it’s a fool’s hope. You slide silently into the car, and with a quiet welcome your mother shifts into drive. The murmur of 40’s jazz fills the cab. You're lost in your thoughts, and it isn't until you release an unconscious sigh that you feel your mom’s hand rest on top of yours.

“Bad day?”

“More like one gigantic mess of a week.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“I don’t even know where to start.”

She squeezes your hand, and it takes several long minutes before your mind is organized enough for you to actually find where you want to begin. Then after taking a deep breath, you take the plunge and tell her everything. 

Well, almost everything. You leave out all the bits that involve you and Silco because you already know exactly what she’ll have to say about that, but everything else is fair game. Most of the time you jump around, tangling the timeline in a confusing muddle, but the more you talk the more clearly your real worries rise to the surface. 

Your anxiety about being manager, your warring care and frustration for Jinx, your continued mixed feelings about Marcus and Allie, Silco’s general behavior.

The only time you pause to take a breath is when you get to your parents’ house, where you spend half an hour changing into a pair of borrowed pajamas,  washing your face, and grabbing a cup of coffee before having to explain to your worried mother how you got such an ugly bruise on your cheek.

“It was an accident. I ran into one of Jinx’s easels and the blue block glasses broke on my face.”

It wasn’t a total lie. Jinx had thrown that piece of the easel rather forcefully, so you could argue the case that it ran into you rather than you running into it. At least it was close enough to the truth for it to ring true. 

“I’ve been putting arnica on it, and it doesn’t hurt much anymore. It just looks like I got into a fist fight and lost.”

Troubled eyes glint from behind thick rim glasses as she fishes the tea bag from her cup. If there’s one thing your mother can do, it’s smell out a lie. You decide to change the subject before she can inspect yours any closer.

“Speaking of easels, Jinx has her first show coming up next Friday. She left The Fissures tonight because she wanted to show her finished pieces to Ekko.”

“Thomas’ son? Silco’s driver?”

“Yep. She didn’t tell me until I texted her, which is one of the reasons Silco and I got into that fight.”

“And you called him a bad father.”

There’s no judgment in your mother’s voice, but you still wince.

You know she understands better than anyone the problems that come with speaking first and thinking later. Her and Allie might share the same face, but you both share the curse of being too honest for your own good, and wielding your words like knives. 

You and she have cut each other countless times over the years, which has thankfully only made your relationship stronger. You just hope that will turn out to be the case for you and Silco.

“Well, it sounds like you’ve been busy since we last talked.”

A familiar, thoughtful intensity has settled on her face.

You sigh. “Can I have a few more minutes to wallow before you ruin the rest of my night with a plague of self reflection?”

Her smile eases the expression for a moment, and shows the deep dimples in her cheeks. Another trait she shares with Allie.

“Alright, but I’m only giving it to you because I need to use the ladies room. When I come back I expect to have your full attention.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”

She stands up with a groan. A grandfather ticks and tocks from the front hall as you fiddle with your mug. The large head of a crowing rooster watches you stare moodily into the murky depths of your coffee. You’re here for your mother’s world famous listening skills and good advice, but if things go as they usually do, you'll soon be looking into the deepest darkest corners of your soul to root out some uncomfortable truths.

In an effort to bolster yourself for the possible storm ahead, you finish your coffee, stretch, then head to the kitchen for a second cup. By the time you make it back to the living room your mother is settling back in. She takes her time arranging the well worn pumpkin blanket on her lap before reaching for her mug.

“So, let’s start with the elephant in the room, shall we?”

Oh boy, here we go.

“Your sister told me that you’re interested in someone.”

Of all the elephants congregated in this small, country style living room, you’d hoped (foolishly) that she wouldn’t notice the terribly confused one bearing Silco on its back.

Though you can't tell if Allie told your mom it was Silco, or not.

You take a sip of coffee to stall, but it's not providing the liquid courage you’d hoped for. You’re feeling rather cowardly, now that it comes down to it, and you decide the best defense is to say nothing at all

A calculating but disappointed look enters her eyes, and unspoken are the words: Have you fallen for your boss, again?

"It sounds like Silco is a difficult boss to work for."

Trying to be wary and vulnerable at the same is difficult work.

You answer her as carefully as you can. “He isn’t anything like Jeremiah. He isn't an a-hole. He doesn’t cheat people, or play low ball. He might be a little cut throat to competitors, but he does exactly what he says he’s going to do. He’s a good boss.” 

“I’d believe you if you hadn’t spent the last hour complaining about him.”

A fair point, but has less to do with him being your boss than something else (which you’re not willing to put words to out loud).

You change tack.

“Honestly, he’s just been frustrating to deal with because I haven’t figured out how he works yet. I know he’s very particular about what he wants and how he wants it to be done, and he doesn’t roll with other opinions or sudden changes very well.”

“He sounds unreasonable.”

“But he isn’t! One of the reasons I like him... or I mean appreciate him as a boss, is because he’s honest and willing to talk. I just… haven’t figured out how to communicate with him in a way that doesn’t end in an argument, that’s all.”

“Hmm.”

You resist the urge to jump to his defense. “Not that it matters. After tonight I probably won't be seeing much of him anyway. In fact, by tomorrow morning I might not even have a job. He’d be well within his rights to fire me for being an argumentative pain in his butt.”

“I’d say Sevika is more of a pain to deal with, and he keeps her around.”

“Only because they have a history.”

“The point still stands, you’re clearly the best candidate he has right now for managing his shop, and he won’t discard that just because you had an argument.”

It’s nothing you haven’t already tried to assure yourself. Still… 

“I don’t know.”

“If he was going to fire you he probably would have done it on the spot. Besides, this isn’t the first time you’ve argued with Silco, and he didn’t fire you then, so why would he now?”

“Because I insulted him and his daughter this time,” You put your head in your hands with a groan. “I don’t think he’ll be interested in anything I have to say.”

“You don’t know until you try. If what you said is true, and you believe that he is a rational and reasonable man, I’m sure he’ll welcome having an honest conversation.”

You fiddle with your hair as you think about how painful it will be to face Silco and admit you behaved badly. To ask for his forgiveness, try to get him to see your perspective, and hope that you didn’t ruin your relationship - whatever it is - beyond repair.

You have to do it to save your job if nothing else.

And because you really don’t want things to end this way, Some small voice is willing to concede. With him or Jinx.

Though in what way you’d prefer it to end, you can’t even allow yourself to consider.

“If it makes you feel any better, I believe he’ll listen to you.”

“It kind of does.”

Her brows knit together in a frown. “It takes courage to hand over the care of your child to another person, even if that child is on the verge of adulthood. The fact that he considered you for the task in the first place shows that he trusts you.”

You let her words roll around in your brain for a few moments.

“Okay, but if that’s true, then why is he being so difficult?”

“Trust is never simple or easy. There was a time when you did everything you could to help people, and fix everybody else’s problems, but then shut us out when we tried to help you. How long did it take for you to finally let us in, even though you knew we loved you more than anybody else in this world?”

It takes several seconds for the truth to sink in.

“If you want to earn his trust, then it’s going to take hard work and patience. The question is, are you willing to do it?”

Your immediate answer is yes, absolutely. Because you love Jinx, and want to be a part of her life, and it’s worth all the trouble in the world to help her. 

But that’s not the only reason.

Which your mother probably suspects. She'll likely question you to within an inch of your life to make sure you aren’t doing it because she thinks you’re once again falling for an older man (who is your boss), who could be taking advantage of your skills in order to further his own business. 

You can at least assure her in that respect. He’s certainly asking a lot from you, but you know from personal experience that he’s more than willing to throw money at you for your help and cooperation.

Unfortunately, you can’t assure her of anything else. If Silco is using you, he’s doing it too slowly and too carefully for you to recognize it for what it is. This last week has felt like falling, and no matter how hard you try to keep your head, you can’t seem to shake him from your mind.

The truth is, you like Silco. In fact, you more than like him.

And that terrifies you. Not just because you’ve never felt like this before, but because the more you get to know him, the less you find yourself caring about whether you’re being used or not.

And that means you’re right back to where you were three years ago, and you haven’t learned anything at all.

“I’d like to have a good working relationship with my boss," You say at last, tiredly. "Especially since I’ll be working closely with him in the future, and I’m friends with his daughter. So yes, I’m willing to do the work.”

“Just for a good working relationship?”

“That’s all I have a right to expect.” 

“But that’s not what you want?”

You can’t look her in the eye.

“I see.”

There was no hiding it for long, anyway. She was bound to discover the truth sooner or later.

There's a pause where you're filled with embarrassment, shame, and despair.

“Does he share your interest?”

“I don’t know," You answer miserably. "Probably not. I mean he’s a business mogul who wears Armani, and I’m just the soon to be manager of his coffee shop.”

She considers you slowly. “We don’t always get to choose who we’re attracted to, and you're not bad for wanting to be loved by someone you admire."

You sniff back threatening tears.

"But speaking as a mother, I want you to be careful. And I want you to promise that you’ll keep talking to me, no matter what happens."

The best you can manage is a slow nod.

"I just want to make sure you know that you're not alone, and I want to remind you that you should never lose yourself for the sake of a man. You are a beautiful person, inside and out, and you deserve happiness. I'm not just saying that as your mother."

You offer her a wan, watery smile. 

"And I know I'm beating an old rug here, but it's the last thing I'll say. Don't be like your sister, and try to hang onto something that's not meant to be. If it's the Lord's will that Silco's the man for you, then it'll happen, and nothing will get in the way of that."

Her support, no matter how anxiously shared, is more than you've ever gotten from her before.

"Thanks mom," You say, and you mean it.

“Of course. But I promise you, the moment I catch wind that he's done anything to hurt my baby girl, I won’t hesitate to whoop his ass. And I'll tell him that, when I see him.”

You half laugh, half groan. “Please mom, no."

“Just wait and see if I don’t.”

The worst part is, she would. But your one consolation is that your mother is unlikely to ever meet Silco in person, so such a conversation is unlikely to occur.

"I know I can be overprotective at times, but if you can make allowances for Silco then you can make allowances for me.”

"Fair enough."

She takes another sip of her tea and looks at her watch. “Well now, I think it’s about time for your sister to text me to come pick her up.”

“Sis asked you to pick her up at That Last Drop?” You ask in surprise.

“I said I’d only do it if she was sober, and she promised she wasn’t going to have more than a few glasses. You want to come with? She’ll probably want to stay the night too, once she knows you’re here. We can have a party and watch Pride and Prejudice until you fall asleep.”

"Which version?"

"Whichever one you want."

You're not sure you can handle the angst of the 2005 Hand flex (TM) at the moment, so you make the next obvious choice.

"Let's do A&E."

"Done. Now get your things. I'm about to text her that we're heading over."

You stand to do as you're told, but impulsively cross the room to hug her. You hold her a little tighter than usual.

"Thanks. For everything."

She gives you an extra squeeze. "It's my pleasure baby girl."

Chapter Text

Sunday, October 10

It’s the unspoken rule that when you or your sister are underneath your mother’s roof, you must abide by her rules (This applies to your father as well, but he’s currently out of town on a work trip, so he gets a pass). Therefore, when Sunday morning rolls around, regardless of how late you stayed up watching Colin Firth fail to woo Jennifer Ehle, you are required to go to church.

When your mother shows up at the breakfast table wearing jeans and a sweater, you realize you’re completely overdressed. Silco’s dress screams “wealthy black widow on the prowl for her next victim”, but seeing as her and your size difference is of a kind that cannot be rectified, it’s your only choice. Even your sister, though she’s also wearing her clothes from the night before, doesn’t seem to be nearly as conspicuous as you know you’ll be.

But there’s nothing you can do, so you all hop into her car and head to church, a strange mismatched trio.

“I was thinking we could get lunch at Jericho’s,” Your mom says cheerfully. “And then go walk around The Lanes. Your dad got me a gift card, and I have my eye on a few new watercolors.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Sorry, but Marcus is picking me up for lunch.”

You and mom both look at Allie with dismay.

“Oh,” Mom answers. “Is there any way you could push it off to another day?”

“Marc’s is going out of town for training, so this is the last day we can spend together for two weeks.”

Mom’s disappointment is palpable. 

You’re incredibly annoyed. “Haven’t you seen him everyday for the last week?”

“Yeah, so?”

“So when’s the last time we had lunch with mom?”

“Girls…”

Allie throws up her hands. “Well I’m sorry, but if I’d known we were going to have a slumber party last night I probably could have worked something out, but it’s too late now.”

“Why?” You press. “What time are you supposed to meet? Can you ask to move it back to dinner?”

“Can’t. He hired a babysitter for the day.”

“Well –” 

“Drop it!” Your mom barks. “It’s fine. I’ll see Allie another day this week. It was supposed to be our date today, anyway.”

It takes all your powers of self possession not to let out a disgruntled huff. From the front seat, Allie doesn’t bother to hide hers.

Your mom turns up the worship music.

You scowl out the window.

Unbelievable.

Allie’s relationship is now staunchly centered in the honeymoon phase, where both family and friends are shoved to the back burner. The only way you’ll get her to see reason is if you wrestle those heart shaped, rose colored glasses off her face, and she won’t relinquish them without a fight.

Tension is high as you pull into the church parking lot, and Allie is first out of the car. She stalks ahead, and doesn’t notice when your mom stops before the doors to the sanctuary.

 “I’ll see you after service.”

“What? You’re not going in with us?”

“I’m a greeter today. That’s why we came early,” She pulls a lanyard from her purse and looks after Allie with a sigh. “Don’t let this come between you two.”

“I’m not the one letting something come between us.”

“Your anger is something.”

“I’m not mad.”

“It’s bad form to lie at church.”

She smiles as you release a short, exasperated laugh. “I’m not mad, just frustrated. Marcus is the only person that exists in Allie’s world right now.”

“She’s in love.”

“More like infatuated.”

She gives you a look.

“What? She barely knows the guy, but she can’t think or talk about anybody else but him!”

“Huh. That sounds strangely like someone else we both know.”

You stare at her, baffled, before you think back to how many times you brought up a certain business mogul in your conversation last night.

You blush at her knowing look. 

“Oh come on, are you really comparing me to Allie, the girl who falls in love every other day?”

“You and your sister are different in many ways, but you’re both stubborn, and refuse to acknowledge what’s right in front of your eyes.”

You fold your arms and scowl. “Oh yeah, and what’s in front of mine?”

Rather than reply, she gives you an enigmatic smile, “I need to go. Please don’t let the sun go down on your anger.”

“Can I at least hold onto it till sunset?”

She hugs you and kisses your cheek. “No.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

As she starts to back away she says, “Because you can’t help being the bigger person.”

“Yeah, well being the bigger person sucks sometimes.”

“Yes it does, but you’ll do it anyway because it’s who you are. And I’m proud of you for it. Now go on.”

It's annoying, but she's right. You can't help being the bigger man.

If only to have moral superiority.

Just kidding.

Or am I?

Allie’s waiting impatiently for you just inside the sanctuary doors.

“Where’s mom?”

“I guess she’s a greeter today. It’ll just be you and me in the pews.”

“Oh.”

Her anger is simmering beneath the surface even as you find a few seats towards the back of the room. She’s being a little pill, typing on her phone, pointedly ignoring you. For a moment you attempt to wrestle the bigger person back down into the basement, but after a few minutes it wins out. 

As usual.

You continue your nervous rolling and unrolling of the sermon notes an usher handed to you on your way in.

“Sorry. About before. I shouldn’t have pushed you.”

Her shoulders twitch upward in a shrug. “It’s fine.”

“It’s clearly not.”

She holds onto her words just long enough for them to burst out forcefully, “I just don’t understand why you still have it out for Marcus! I thought we were past this.”

“We are, Allie, I swear! I like Marcus, I think he’s good for you. I guess I was just bummed that you wouldn’t be joining us.”

“Well Marcus will be out of town, so we can do something later this week if you want.” She still looks annoyed, but some of the ire has left her voice.

“Sure. Maybe we can have a Star Wars marathon on Thursday, and put together that bird of paradise lego set you’ve had stashed in your room since March.”

The tension in her shoulders leaves as a reluctant grin plants itself on her face. “Okay.” 

Another win for the bigger man.

“Okay. So how is problematic Marcus today?”

She rolls her eyes. “He’s fine. Apprehensive about the testing, but he knows his stuff. He asked if I could quiz him later.” 

“Cool.”

In truth, you can’t think of anything less cool than helping someone study while on a date, but it’s a nice gesture on your sister’s part. It shows that she doesn’t care what they’re doing, so long as they're doing it together. 

I guess I understand that.

If a person you liked asked you to hang out while they did paperwork or wrote up reports, you’d probably say yes. 

In fact, you know you would. 

As the pews start to fill up around you, your fingers itch to grab your phone. The only thing holding you back is indecision. What on earth could you possibly say to Silco to make headway on getting things back to normal?

And what is our normal anyway?

Deep conversations shared past midnight, witty banter riddled with smirks?

Careful flirting or sudden arguments?

In that moment the worship team takes center stage, and your thoughts are lost in a cacophony of worship music. You can hardly think as you read the lyrics off the overhead screen, and you’re aware of your sister, playing with her phone as she half-heartedly sings the words to songs memorized long ago.

“I searched the world 

But it couldn't fill me…”

You wonder idly if this is what it feels like to be in love. Distracted and unsatisfied unless you’re with the person who’s most often on your mind.

“...Then You came along, 

And put me back together…”

It’s not like your life had been falling apart, but it could be said that until Silco, its trajectory had been heading steadily into the slow death of stagnation.

“...And every desire

Is now satisfied

Here in Your love…”

Silco’s crooked smile plays like a broken record, and you rub your chest to derail the terrifying feeling that hits your chest like a freight train.

You miss him. 

Why, oh why won't you leave me alone?

“So, how was church today?”

You idly pick at your salad with a plastic fork. “Good.”

Damning.

It’s mostly a blur, except the parts that had to do with self-righteousness (that one put an uncomfortable prickling in your conscience); judging others for the speck in their eye when you’ve got a plank in yours (you felt personally called out by the pastor for that one, or maybe you just imagined that he found your eyes all the way in the second to last row); forgiving others just as Christ forgave you (alright, fine, I get it!). And (of course) love, love, love, love, love…

Love suffers long and is kind.

Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

Funny how you claim not to be in love, but while you were sitting in that pew (sinking deeper into the stiff red speckled fabric that looked suspiciously like burning eyes), it was darn near impossible to avoid thinking of a particular man every time the pastor brought up the word.

It forced you to once again face the reality of your situation.

“Everything alright?”

No. I more than like Silco.

You nod. “Yep.”

“You sure?”

Nope.

“Yep.” 

She’s clearly not convinced. You force yourself to take a bite of the salad you’ve so far only had the heart to play with. 

“How’s dad?” You mumble around an overly large piece of romaine.

The subject is enough to get your mother off your case through the rest of lunch. Unfortunately, it doesn’t keep Silco off your mind. You ruminate on how to contact him without seeming like you’re desperate (even though you are). You're also tempted to play it cool and wait for him to contact you first, but that’s the less appealing option since you have no idea if he’ll willingly try to contact you again.

If this is love, then it sucks!

It really makes you wonder. If relationships are this difficult to navigate when you aren’t even in one, what does it take to maintain a working relationship once you are?

These questions circle and bob up and down like horses on a merry-go-round all the way to The Lanes Artist’s Supplies.

But you’re forced to stop the ride as soon as you start perusing the paper aisle.

“So, what’s going on in that head of yours?” Your mom asks. “You’ve been awfully quiet since lunch.”

You run your finger along a line of paper goods that you aren’t really seeing. 

“I was just thinking about you and dad.”

“What about us?”

“How did you know he was the one? I mean you’re so different. You’re affectionate and straightforward, while he’s passive, and the most affection I’ve ever seen him show is when he grabs your butt.”

She laughs. “So?”

“You told me that you guys broke up three times, and the last time you got back together he put his foot down and said ‘that’s it, we’re together for the long haul or not at all’. Why did you keep breaking up with him? And what made you decide to stay?”

After a moment of silence she shrugs. “At the time all I knew was chaos. I kept leaving because his steadiness scared me, and I kept going back because he was unfailingly loyal. And nothing like my step-father. I knew that, no matter what I did, he would never raise a fist to hurt me.” 

“So he was safe?”

“Yes. And caring. He might not say he loves me in so many words, but he’s stood by me through all the years that I was angry and tried to mess things up. Hey look, the sketchbooks are on sale! Didn’t you say you wanted one?”

You chew on your lip as you pick up the first one you can reach.

“Would you say that dad is perfect for you?”

“I don’t think anybody is perfect for anybody else. People are people. They change. So to make a relationship work, there has to be constant effort on both sides. What do you think, this one or this one?”

Your mom raises two identical looking pads of paper, and you find that you have no helpful opinion. After a short deliberation she picks the one on the right, because the cover has a watercolor rooster on it.

She slips it into her basket. “To answer your question, no. I don’t think your dad is the perfect man for me. In fact, he might not even be the best man for me. The notion of soul mates might be real for a few lucky couples, but for the vast majority there’s probably plenty of ‘better’ options out there than the person you end up with.”

You’re forced to hold onto your burning question as your mother wanders off to the paint aisle.

“So what keeps you together?”

“Love. Not just the feeling, but the action. When I say I love your father, I mean that I choose to love him, everyday. Even when he forgets to take out the trash or stops listening to me as soon as he spots a TV. And he chooses to love me, even when I’m a backseat driver and accuse him of forgetting to do the dishes on purpose.”

She stops to examine a tube of watercolor, looks at the price, then mutters, “That’s highway robbery.” 

She puts it back with a shake of her head before turning to look you in the eye. “We might not like each other all the time, but we choose to love each other every day.” 

This time when she wanders off, you don’t follow. In fact, you stand exactly where you are until a hovering college student forces you to move in front of the spray paint cabinet.

You’ve always known your parents were a story of opposites. As a child their marriage had seemed stable and happy, but as you grew older – and your relationship with your mother became more like a friendship of equals – your eyes were opened to all the cracks and tension underneath the veneer. 

Yet despite their differences, they always found a reason to stay together. They chose love, as your mother called it, everyday. You wondered what instinct told them to continue to love and trust each other when they struggled to see eye-to-eye. 

What had drawn Allie and Marcus together, for that matter? Was it safety? Was it just a feeling? Or was it the same unspoken thing that kept pulling you and Silco into its magnetic field?

It was worth investigating in the very least.

“Toots!”

Suddenly, you're being bowled over as a piece of blue braid smacks you in the face. Arms wrap themselves around your neck with startling strength as you’re overwhelmed by the smell of cloves.

“Jinx?” You manage to choke out.

Is this a sign?

“I can’t believe you’re actually here!” She lets you go and hops in front of you with a wide grin. “This is perfect. I was totally going to call you and see if you wanted to do something today, but Silco grounded me.”

“He what?”

“Yeah, he said that after the stunt I pulled last night I wasn’t allowed to do anything fun. He also said I had to apologize to you for leaving without saying anything, which I’ll admit was a little uncool.”

“It was a little uncool.”

Her smile falters at the flatness of your tone. 

Her eyes dart to the side as her fingers find their way into her braids. “Yeah. I guess I just got so excited to see Ekko that when he said he wanted to see my stuff I just… I don’t know, lost my mind for a second. I really am sorry.”

She looks so genuinely ashamed that you can’t find it in your heart to be angry at her. Not completely, anyway.

Love makes you do crazy, stupid things.

“After what happened at your house I was scared when I couldn’t find you. And so was your dad.”

“I didn’t mean to get you into trouble with Silco.”

“I know. And that’s not your fault. You were my responsibility, and I didn’t own up to it. He had… has a right to be angry with me. But so long as you never do that again, we’re cool.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Her shoulders droop in relief. “Okay. Do you think... I mean Silco said he wanted –”

“Jinx, did you find that damned associate yet?”

Sevika rounds the corner, and stops short with a raised eyebrow and a gruff, “I’ll be damned.”

“Hey.”

“Why the hell are you here?”

My, your temper is blazing today.

“My mom has a gift card,” You answer cautiously. “Why are you here?”

She sneers. “Babysitting duty. The kid’s not allowed to go anywhere alone for the next 72 hours unless supervised by a responsible adult.”

Jinx crosses her arms. “As if you qualify as one of those.”

“Zip it short stack! You don’t think I have better things to do than walk you around this city all day like a fucking dog?”

Jinx snarls at Sevika, and the grown woman actually snarls back. The two look like seconds away from tearing each other apart.

You hastily step in. “Why don’t we call Silco and see if we can’t come to a better arrangement? For both of you.”

“You mean convince him to give her more leash?” Sevika laughs harshly. “Not likely.”

“No. I mean see if he’s okay with you handing her over to me.”

You hadn’t planned on making that suggestion, but now that you have, you realize that you might have just set yourself up for failure. Especially when they both look at you with glittering expectation in their eyes.

You pull out your phone and your finger lingers over the number below Silco's blurry, sneering face.

Has he forgiven you? You have no idea.

But ready or not, you’re about to find out.

Chapter Text

Sunday, October 10 (part 2)

You try to gather your thoughts as you pace into a quiet corner of the warehouse. Unfortunately, most of them have already scattered too far for you to catch, so you suck in a deep breath and hit dial before the rest have time to fly away.

He answers with a bored drawl on the third ring.

“This is Silco.”

“Hi Silco.”

The pause suggests he hadn’t realized it was you.

“Hold on a moment.”

You hear the groan of a chair, then a creaking door. It’s several long, tense seconds before he speaks again.

“I suppose you’re going to tell me that my daughter has suffered sufficiently at the hands of my lieutenant.”

“How did you…?”

“Jinx texted me.”

His voice gives away nothing about his mood.

You fiddle with your basket. “Things are definitely tense. Sevika looks like she's three seconds away from punching a wall.”

“Though I am sorry for whoever owns the wall, she and it will survive. She is being paid well to do the honors of watching my daughter today.”

Again, not a hint of emotion behind the words. Anxiety creeps in. There’s no way he’s going to agree to your proposal. In fact, the more you think about it, the more you realize that not only is he going to say no, but he won’t thank you for interfering.

Your stomach squirms. It would be interfering, wouldn’t it? You, trying to make things better for Jinx. Easier.

Holy cow, are you enabling her too?

“Was there any other reason you called?”

"Reason?"

Your mind races. You have so many reasons, but none of them are important. Except for one.

The actual reason you'd been wanting to call him all day.

Your hand tightens around the phone.

“Yeah. I um… I just wanted to say I’m sorry. About the things I said last night. You were right, I should have been more careful with Jinx. I guess I’m not – well, I don’t know what it takes to parent her. It’s always easier to judge from the outside. So I’m sorry. And I hope that you can forgive me.”

There’s no indication that he’s still on the line, other than the occasional hint of tinny background noise.

You forge on anyway, determined to finish what you wanted to say. 

“And I don’t think you’re a bad father. In fact, I think you’re one of the better dad’s I’ve met. Definitely the most proactive. Most dads aren’t as involved or… or as supportive of their children as you are. I can say that because even though I love my dad he was kind of… not there, emotionally, for me and my sister for most of our childhood. And what I mean to say is that Jinx is very lucky to have you.”

Again, the silence. Your nerves are at their limit as you try to catch a hint of what’s going on at the other end of the line. 

“Hello? Silco? You still there?”

He clears his throat.  “Yes, I’m here. I was simply… thinking.”

You’ve never heard him sound like that before. Distracted, or possibly unsure of what to say. It’s almost as off-putting as watching him get angry.

Maybe it's time to say good-bye. You think wearily.

“Alright. Well, that's all I wanted to say so I should probably let you go now. I’m sure you're busy…”

“I have a few minutes to spare. I’m currently between meetings.”

“Oh, okay.”

Was that an invitation to stay on the line?

A bubble of hope swells in your chest.

“So, you’ve had a busy day? In meetings?”

A heavy sigh. “Yes. I am currently in negotiations with several companies over the distribution of Shimmer in their establishments.”

“That’s great news.”

“From a certain point of view, yes.”

“And from the other?”

“It means more wasted time for me. The representatives I’m working with appear to be unfamiliar with how to conduct themselves during a negotiation, and they’ve been dragging this along for weeks. I will not be sorry when the deal is concluded so I can move on to other projects.”

You're circling past the clearance section, where there are several rows of 70% off select paint brushes. You run your finger along the soft bristles.

“What kinds of projects?”

“I have renovations planned for one of the new buildings I’ve recently purchased along the waterfront. I’d also like to become more involved in a few of my other small businesses, which I fear I have neglected for far too long.”

Businesses like The Last Drip?

It wouldn’t be so bad having him around more often. In fact, it would be the opposite of bad. Though having him around would certainly be a distraction.

You pick a few brushes and settle them next to the pencils in your basket.

“Sounds like you like to stay busy.”

“I do.”

“Do you ever take vacations?”

“I occasionally take Sundays off.”

You laugh a little. “Seriously Silco, don’t you ever want to travel? To lay out on a beach in Costa Rica, or climb the mountains of Tibet or something?”

“Thanks to my military career I have seen much of the world. While the scenery may change, the people stay the same, and I have come to the conclusion that the majority of humanity is not worth knowing.”

“What about the minority?”

“They currently exist here, in Zaun, which is a place where I can exert the most influence. There are many who would like to keep this city as it is, hiding in the shadows, answering to far off bureaucrats who care nothing about the people who live under their influence." A sneer enters his voice. "This is why I work, to build this place into something greater, so that my people can have a place of their own to belong outside of the prejudices and artifices of the world.”

Your throat inexplicably tightens.

His people. 

Passion creeps his voice when he speaks about Zaun.

It’s been your home for almost 29 years now, and though you’ve never been especially involved in politics you can remember your mom and dad talking about the changes that occurred in your city over the last six years. Most of them were radical, and hailed as unconventional, but they’d led to the lowest cost of living out of all the surrounding counties.

You'd never cared how or why that was the case, but now you can't help wondering how many of those changes were spearheaded by Silco.

“That sounds like a cause worth fighting for.”

“I believe it is. If you put your trust in the right people, you can accomplish anything. Which reminds me, have you finished taking all the courses I assigned to you last week?”

“Yeah. I um… I just need the authorization key so I can schedule the proctored exam.” 

“Excellent. I will send it to you by the end of the day.”

“Thank you.”

He's just confirmed that you haven't been fired, which is good.

Whether you've been forgiven or not, however, is still to be determined.

One step at a time, right?

Your phone vibrates in your hand, and you see someone’s liked a message in The Last Drip’s group chat.

“Oh! Before I forget, the team decided that they wanted to decorate the shop on Tuesday after close, if that’s alright with you.”

“How late will you be working?”

“Probably till 9:30 or so.”

“I shall ensure that the alarm doesn’t interrupt your work.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”

The awkward pause is back with a vengeance.

“I’m afraid it’s time for me to head back inside. The meeting’s about to start.”

“Oh, yeah, of course! Bye, Silco. I hope your negotiations will be... short.”

“As do I.”

You’re not sure exactly what you’re feeling when you hang up, and slowly wander back to the aisle where Sevika and Jinx are waiting. It’s somewhere between relief, and something else you can’t name. Something bright. 

Silco never ceases to amaze you. Underneath that stoic mask there’s a heart burning for a cause. You hadn’t realized how much he cared for the city. For his people, as he’d called them.

Called us. 

You’re not sure why, but you feel a faint sense of pride at being considered worthy to be a part of his endeavors. You’ve been asked to be a part of his cause, to create a place for people to thrive and belong. Being the manager of the Last Drip now feels like hallowed work. A new sense of purpose burns within you as you turn the corner to the spray paint aisle.

Two steps in you stop short with a blink.

You can’t quite reconcile the picture of your conservatively dressed mother, laughing and resting her hand on Sevika’s bare, tatted arm. Colorful Jinx is standing next to her, bouncing on her toes, apparently delighted at something she just said.

It just occurs to you that you never actually confirmed that Silco didn’t want you to interfere.

You step cautiously forward, worried you’re about to put a damper on this new, festive mood. 

Your mom sees you first. “There you are darling!”

“Hey mom.” 

As soon as you’re within reach, her arm snakes out to wrap around your waist. “Jinx was just telling me about how nervous she was about her upcoming show, so I told her about your first art fiasco.”

You groan while Sevika snickers.

You’d thought smuggling the kitten into the county fair was a brilliant idea. She would help ease your anxiety and draw people to your stall. After all, who didn’t melt over the sight of a tiny, ginger kitten? What you hadn’t taken into consideration was that there would be a dog show in the same conference room. All it took was one dog to catch Daisy’s scent, and there was absolute pandemonium. 

“In my defense, those dogs were supposed to be well trained.”

“I think it was a brilliant idea!” Jinx says eagerly, turning to Sevika. “Do you think Silco would let me buy a kitten for my show?”

“He probably wouldn’t care if you bought a horse, so long as you plan to take care of it yourself. And don’t look at me for help. I’m done taking in your strays.”

“Don’t pretend like you didn’t love Mr. Eddie.”

“I didn’t. I took the damn thing for job security. I wasn’t about to get saddled with the blame when a monitor lizard decided to eat you in your sleep.”

“Oh yeah? Well you cried when he died last year.”

“Hey, we both did.”

Jinx grins at Sevika, who actually returns it with a feral smile of her own. 

You can’t hold back a strangled laugh at the confusion on your mother’s face. You forget that she’s never had any first hand experience with the eccentricities of the Spisak family. 

“So, what are your ladies plans for the rest of the day?” Your mom asks.

“Well, guessing by the look on your daughter’s face the boss isn’t going to give me the day off…”

You nod, secretly relieved. Let her assume anything she likes. You’re just glad you don’t have to lie to her face. 

“...so I guess after the kid finishes shopping we’ll head to the firing range. Last night taught me that I’ve lost my edge sitting behind a desk all day.” 

She stretches her neck and arms, and her entire back crackles.

“You should come with us!” Jinx says, brightening.

You exchange glances with Sevika. “Er, not today. Maybe another time though.”

She looks momentarily defeated, but after a moment perks back up. “What about next week? On Sunday morning?”

It takes you 1.2 seconds to consider. “That would be cool.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“You’ll really come?”

“Yeah, absolutely.”

She inexplicably wrestles your pinkie finger off the basket handle and links it with her own. “Pinkie swear and no take-backsies! See you later toots! Bye mom!”

You smother a grin as your mother’s face softens. Sevika rolls her eyes and follows Jinx as she bounces down the aisle, but you can tell that she's cooled off.

It appears that everything is back to normal.

“I can see why you’re drawn to the girl,” Your mom says as she watches them go. “There’s something about her that makes me want to fold her into my arms and never let go.”

“Yeah.”

“It makes me wonder about her father.”

"Mhm."

You link your arm through hers and give it a squeeze.

You and me both, mom. You and me both.

Two days later

Tuesday, October 14

“Alright y’all, let’s get this party started!”

The team cheers, and with enthusiasm begins to attack the four monstrous boxes that Issa brought for decorations. In the background the Addams Family is already playing on Monique’s projector, being cast onto one of the bare white walls. Connor has apparently decided that his contribution to the evening will be waving a fake sword around like a baton, directing and commenting on how best to decorate the place without raising a finger to help himself.

Issa glares at him from behind a long swath of shimmering black, spider web laced fabric.

“Are you planning on swinging that thing around all night, or are you actually going to help?”

“That’s what she said.”

Issa’s cheeks burn red.

Monique laughs. “It’s not like Connor actually has any skills in interior decorating. I mean you’ve seen his dorm, right?”

“Well yeah but, why are you even here if you aren’t going to do anything useful?”

“I am bein’ useful. I’m delegation’. It’s one of the definin’ features of good leadership.”

He flicks his hat and salutes you with the plastic scimitar. You shake your head with a barely repressed grin.

Tiny, blonde Hailey -- one of the weekend only members of the team -- snorts. “The only thing I’d trust you to take the lead in is the boot scootin’ boogie.”

“That is one of my specialities.”

He obliges you all with a quick demonstration. 

“Speaking of leadin’, Terry’s about to graduate, which means there’s going to be an opening for a lead position soon, right cap’n?”

“Yep.”

“What?” Everybody exclaims at once. “Terry’s leaving?”

You pin another bat onto the edge of the cork board. “It sounds like he’s already got job offers lined up from JPL and SpaceX.”

“Holy Cow.”

“Is that why he’s not here?”

“Dude, that’s so cool!”

“I can’t believe he didn’t tell me!”

The room slowly comes together as they discuss Terry’s imminent departure, then how many semesters they each have left till graduation, then what their plans are for the future. The movie plays on. You help mount unsettling portraits and drape them in fake cobwebs before sitting back to enjoy the view.

You're not sure, but you think Silco would like it. Jinx definitely would. There's a nice blend of classy and grotesque that should appeal to them both.

You wonder what they're doing right now. You haven't heard from either one of them since Sunday, and it's been driving you crazy. You spent all Monday studying for the course test, and considering whether you should text one of them, or prolong your agony and not text either. 

You'd settled on not texting, and torturing yourself instead.

It was a relief to finally be doing something to take your mind off the Spisaks.

Well, one Spisak in particular.

At the forty five minute mark you’ve just about finished the room. It’s a good thing too, because as soon as the mamushka starts to play Connor immediately shushes everyone and starts to circle the lobby. All thoughts of decorating are left behind as Monique snatches up the other fake sword and brandishes it in his direction, a clear challenge to be his adversary in the awkward dance. 

You grin, moving back to make space and settle one shoulder against the door that leads into the hall. As soon as the Addams brothers begin to sing, Hailey’s angelic voice harmonizes with them in perfect pitch. Issa pretends she isn’t interested in what’s going on, but she keeps scoffing and shaking her head at Connor and Monique in an attempt to hide her smile. Kelley and Amber have clearly never seen the movie before, but that doesn’t put a damper on their enthusiasm. They start doing strange dances you can only guess they learned from Tik Tok.

You clap and laugh as the song ends and Connor and Monique (the clear winner of the dance) take their bows around the room. But the smile freezes on Monique's face as she gets to you. Her eyes widen, and for a moment wears a look of sheer panic.

After several confusing seconds you realize she isn’t looking at you, but over your shoulder.

You turn quickly to find Silco standing directly on the other side of the glass. A funny twinge twists in your gut as you hastily step back and swing open the door. 

“Hey Silco! Sorry, I didn’t see you. I was uh… a little distracted.” 

He steps inside, one eyebrow quirked in amusement. “Having a nice evening?”

“Absolutely. We’re having lots of fun. Right guys?”

The nodding around the room is extremely emphatic. Some of them make unintelligible noises of overenthusiastic agreement.

“I didn’t realize you’d be stopping by.” 

“I needed to finish some work. I thought it would be best to do it here.”

“Cool.” You say lamely.

In your defense, he’s looking very hot in his slim navy suit, and you were unprepared to see him after thinking about him nonstop for the last two days. His hands are stuffed in his pockets and a computer bag is slung across his shoulder, his hair flopping carelessly over his forehead.

You’re not sure why you’re overwhelmed by the sight of him. It’s not like you haven’t seen him wearing this stuff before. Maybe it’s because, instead of an angry blaze in his eye, there’s an unsettling frankness that makes it difficult to look him in the eye.

Pull yourself together!

You take a step towards one of the tables, hoping to regain some sense of reality. “There’s pizza, if you want some.”

“Thank you, but I’ve already eaten.”

“Right. Well, we’re almost done with the place, as you can see. There’s just a few things left.”

“Don’t let me keep you.”

“No. Yeah, we won’t let you keep us.”

You look at him just long enough to throw him a flickering smile before he heads to the corner of the room. 

“Okay guys,” You say, feeling oddly giddy. “Let’s get this done.”

The team goes back to their task with harried intention, but they continue to cast furtive glances Silco’s way, like he’s some kind of specter liable to disappear through the wall. You can’t help taking peeks at him either. He’s up against the wall, facing the room, though his attention is already directed at his computer.

This feels oddly like déjà vu, except you aren’t wearing booty shorts today. Just coffee covered work clothes and a baseball cap. 

Which is equally as sexy.

Everyone seems to agree as a collective that Silco’s side of the room doesn’t need any more decoration, even though it’s the most empty corner in the place.

You bury a sigh and grab a portrait that’s propped up nearby. It’s of a very pale, vampiric young man with eyes tinted a strange cast of red. You try to ignore the similarities it holds with the man you now approach with slow steps.

He looks up as you reach the table.

“You don’t mind if I hang this real quick, do you?”

“Be my guest.”

You have to stretch awkwardly over his table in order to mount the picture on the nail that’s been hammered into the plaster. Unfortunately the portrait doesn’t want to oblige by catching the nail on the first try, and you start to feel foolish after the third attempt to mount the frame fails. 

“I’m almost done, I swear.” You mutter.

“There’s no need to rush on my account.”

He’s gazing at you with such steadiness that your face turns hot, and a thrill shoots down to the pit of your stomach. 

Finally the picture catches, and you shuffle away hastily, unable to address him with more than a fleeting smile before turning back to the room.

“Alright guys, how’s it looking?”

Most of the crew is milling about in the center of the room, looking unsure of themselves.

You check the clock. “Well I think I can finish the rest of this up. You guys can go ahead and clock out.”

The relief is palpable. Only Connor and Monique volunteer to stay long enough to clean up the food, and dump the extra trash made by the team in the dumpster out back. While they're gone, you put away all the random bits, collect the boxes, and stuff them in the stock room. Issa was the first one out the door as soon as you dismissed them, so you text her to pick them up the next time she comes in for a shift.

Monique cleans up the projector in less than ten minutes, and once she leaves with Connor, you’re alone in the echoing silence of the shop. 

Alone with Silco.

Chapter Text

Tuesday, October 12 (part 2)

You’re painfully aware of Silco. It’s like he’s always there, in the corner of your eye, no matter what you do.

He’s there when you wipe down tables and straighten the chairs, and when you go about the lobby sweeping up the unholy amount of glitter dusting the floor. It feels like you’re taking far too long to accomplish these simple tasks, but you aren’t ready to leave. Not without talking to him first.

Or without him talking to you.

A fine sweat has broken out on your brow by the time you put the broom and dustpan away to double check the closing list. You ensure that everything is in its place in the bar area, and wipe a few stray drips on the counters before looking around and realizing that doing anything else would just be considered obvious stalling.

It’s time to say good-bye.

Slowly, you make your way back to Silco’s table, and he looks up as if already aware of your approach. He’s taken off his eye-patch at some point since the team left, which makes his sudden attention that much more startling.

“Would you like me to turn off all the lights before I go?" You ask. "Or should I —”

“Stay.”

Your mouth goes dry. “What?”

“I need you to look something over for me. It’s your new contract. I believe you weren’t given a clear job description when you were hired by Sevika.”

“Er, no. I wasn’t.”

He turns the computer towards you, and gestures for you to sit. You try to focus on the document, but your attention is fractured because you’re still able to see him over the top of the monitor. You lean forward to block him out, and have to re-read the first sentence several times before you’re able to process what it says. 

The contract has Silco written all over it. Clear and accurate job descriptions, a section on starting wages, a training schedule, and when you can expect your first raise. You discover that you’re going to eventually become the new hiring and firing manager, among a few other surprising things.

You trace a particular sentence with your finger. “What kind of events are you planning on allowing in the shop?”

“Jinx has complained on many occasions about the lack of an arts community in our city, and I believe it would be advantageous to begin opening up the space a few evenings a month for local artists and musicians.”

“That would be cool.”

Your heart squeezes as you think about how little you actually know about event planning, and you raise your head to meet his gaze for the first time. He’s in business mode: neutral to bored expression, leaning back, legs crossed, seemingly relaxed.

It’s completely at odds with the tenseness tightening your body. You're leaning forward, perched rigidly on the edge of the hard backed seat.

You force your arms to uncross and settle on the table.

“It also sounds like, um… Sevika won’t be my point of contact any more. That I’ll be answering directly to you.”

“That’s right.”

“And that you want to have regular meetings?”

“At least one a week, for the time being. Sevika has already given me all the reports she has on how the business is run, and I find them sorely lacking in a few key areas. It will be up to you and I to explore these gaps, and fill them as efficiently as possible.”

“Okay.”

“Do you have any other questions?”

You shake your head slowly.

“Very well. I will send you a more complete copy to look over, and if you have any comments and concerns, we’ll address them before I print it out for you to sign.”

“Okay.”

His dismissal is clear when he turns the computer back around and begins to type, so you head to the back to clock out and slowly gather your things. The reality of your new situation is a bit overwhelming. Soon you'll be busier than you’ve been in years. Not only that, but you’ll be in regular communication with Silco.

That could be difficult for you on so many levels.

You’re not worried about your job performance, but you know he’s going to be a much harsher judge of the shop's operation than Sevika ever was, and that pressure to perform is going to drop on the team like a lead balloon. Based on their reaction to Silco earlier, they’re going to rely on you to be the buffer. So not only will you be managing Silco’s expectations, but the team’s response to it. Which you're sure will vary wildly depending on the person.

You’re truly going to be the middleman, and you’ll have to fight hard not to get crushed.

As you consider who on the team is going to respond the worst (Issa, probably), you flick off a few of the lights, leaving only the ones in the lobby so that Silco won’t be sitting in the dark. You pull out your water bottle and top it off with water, and it isn’t until you set down your things to rummage for your keys that you hear him nearby.

You glance over your shoulder and catch Silco leaning against the back bar, texting, legs crossed. It looks like a harmless gesture, but he’s effectively cutting you off from the exit.

Something tells you this was a purposeful move.

Anxiety and something you refuse to name war inside you as you settle against the counter to wait him out. You grip your keys, and they jangle relentlessly, and eventually you set them down because they’re amping up your already wired nerves. You grab your bottle instead, and take long sips.

You've sucked down almost half the bottle before he speaks.

“I want you to know that I accept your apology.” He says very clipped, without looking up. “I am unused to being challenged, and though I knew you were speaking the truth, I reacted inappropriately. I beg your pardon.”

Having it spoken out loud eases some of the weight that's been nestled in your chest for the last few days. 

A beat passes as you find your voice.

“Pardon accepted. And I want to say again that I.. I'm also sorry. For what I said, and how I said it.”

"It's already forgotten," He slips his phone into his pocket and crosses his arms. “I’ve always believed honesty is paramount in business partnerships. In this I know we will not have a problem. Though our history is short, it is full of arguments that have begun because of your willingness to tell me difficult truths, and despite all evidence to the contrary I value your clarity of mind.”

You nod, barely trusting yourself to speak, especially as he pushes off the counter and slowly meanders closer…

“I have no doubts that together, we can turn this place into a more profitable business.”

You play with a frayed sticker on your bottle as he stops mere feet away to examine the espresso machine. His fingers trace along the edge of the drip tray, and his head tilts so that the glow of his eye reflects off the stainless steel.

“Sevika was not clear on the chain of command, so we will need to establish from the beginning that my will is law, and that you have been given power to enact it.”

“Of course.”

“If you have any issues with the way I choose to run the business, or have any insights into a more efficient work system, bring it to me privately. I will have office hours in the upstairs suites a few nights a week, and of course, I am available by phone during normal working hours.”

“Alright.”

He shifts a hand into his pocket, while the other still rests on the machine. “And for the time being you may continue to schedule yourself as you see fit in order to accomplish any of the tasks I assign to you, or you feel you must accomplish. However, I do foresee a possible hindrance to our working relationship….”

You shake your head. “You don’t have to worry, Silco, I’ll do whatever you need me to do, whenever you need me to do it.”

“Of course. It’s not you I’m worried about.”

“Then is it the team? Because I promise that I’ll have them on board in no time.”

You see a half smile. “I believe you. It's clear to me where their loyalties lie.”

“Then what?”

“I believe there will be a struggle for us to maintain professionalism in the workplace.”

You set your bottle in your bag, suddenly hyper aware that it’s covered in extremely juvenile stickers, including a giant, glittering head of Nicholas Cage.

“Look, I know I haven’t put up a very professional front so far, but I promise that while I’m working I can keep my mouth shut and behave myself.”

“Again, I believe you. But as I said, it is not you I’m worried about.”

Then who?

His attention is locked onto the machine before him, and in his profile you read an aristocratic haughtiness lingering around the edges of his eyes and mouth. It's so much like his head-shot in the college pamphlet that you can't help staring, but there’s something else there too. You’ve never paid close attention to his ruined eye before because when it’s fixed on you, it’s difficult not to squirm. But in the semi-darkness you can read a subtle emotion. Turmoil, maybe, or wariness.

You don’t know what it means, but it makes your heart beat that much faster. 

“I have always thought a man’s inability to maintain self-possession was a weakness. But after repeatedly losing my own composure in recent days I have concluded that it is an... unavoidable reality. And to pretend my own weaknesses don’t exist is to foster a far worse danger of willful ignorance.”

He folds his hands behind his back and turns to face you fully. 

“I have seen my hubris come to play in my relationship with Jinx and Sevika, and possibly others, and I must address it between you and I now so that it no longer a threat.”

You stare at him, uncomprehending. “Okay. So what do you need to address?”

He doesn’t answer right away, but searches your face.

“I briefly considered letting you go. After our argument.”

This revelation strikes you like a hammer to the chest. Even though you’d thought deep down that he might fire you, hearing it spoken out loud makes you feel a strange sense of disappointment. 

And betrayal.

“It would have been the most logical course of action, though I quickly ruled it out as it would likely have created as many problems as it resolved."

Did he just call you a problem?

"Oh," Is all you trust yourself to say.

"This team would not be nearly as effective without your leadership, and the trouble of having to rehire and retrain a manager at this time would not be worth my time.”

“Right. What a hassle.”

“There is also the trouble of Jinx. If I were to cut you loose she would pester me incessantly until I brought you back again. Sevika would also throw a fit, as she would be forced to step back in for the interim. So the question still remains. What am I to do with you?”

He tilts his head as if to better consider the question, sending one fine lock of hair dripping over his forehead.

You hate how attractive it looks.

“I thought you weren’t worried about me," You prompt.

“I’m not. But you are an integral part of the solution. Exactly how, well… that is something we need to discuss.”

“Great. Well I’m glad you seem to have everything figured out.”

“I’ve made you angry.”

You scoff. 

How astute of you Mr. Spisak.

“You just told me you wanted to fire me, and the reason you didn’t is because it would be inconvenient. Also, your daughter would be mad at you. So yeah. I guess I am.”

His eyebrows crease. “It wasn’t my intention to insult you. I was merely trying to point out that you are important.”

“Yeah, to everyone but you.”

You kick yourself roundly as his eye narrows in that damnably calculating way. 

You pace away in agitation. “But thanks for not firing me. I really like my job, and I promise I’ll be a worthwhile investment.”

“Hm. Is that what you are?”

His sudden change of tone irritates you.

“Plenty of people think so.”

“What do you think?”

“You said it yourself. It makes sense to keep me. I already have a good working relationship with the team, and I also know how to make all the operational decisions, so it’ll save you time and energy learning how to do it yourself.”

“But do you think you’re an investment?”

“Yep. I’m not perfect, but I work hard and I’m willing to learn.”

“I’m asking if you think you’re an investment to me.”

It should be an easy answer. Yes. You are nothing but a pawn to be moved around on his business chess board. Yet something keeps you from answering. Foolish hope, maybe, that you're wrong and you actually mean something more to him.

You shrug as you fiddle with a piece of straw paper. “You obviously don’t think I’m an idiot, and you must... appreciate me to some extent, or else you would have fired me. I must be worth the effort of keeping.”

“Worth the effort? A rather harsh perspective.”

“Well you said it yourself, and everyone I talk to says –”

“I don’t care what anybody else says,” He interrupts. “I want to know what you believe.”

The straw paper is tied in useless, twisted knots in your fingers. You start to tear it to pieces.

“Like I said. I think you… that you respect me. And you’ve got an eye for people, so you saw something in me that would be a good fit for what you’re trying to accomplish here.”

“I thought we agreed to honesty in communication.”

You look up to scowl at him, and are thrown to discover him standing inches away.

It takes you a few beats to find your voice. “I am being honest.”

“While also avoiding the real question."

"Which is?"

"Who are you to me?”

“I don't know."

“Ah," He says softly. "It appears I’m not the only one who’s being willfully ignorant.”

Frustration flushes hot and thick on your cheeks. “I don’t know what you think, okay? I have no idea! I’ve only known you for what, two weeks? That doesn’t exactly make me an expert on the many moods of Silco Spisak.”

“Yet despite how short a time you’ve known me, I have determined that you understand me better than most of my inner circle.”

“I doubt that."

"You don't believe me?"

"No, it's just... I know how to pay attention to things.”

"I know. You are quite capable of discerning my needs without the need for words.”

"I try to pay attention to everybody, not just you." 

“There’s no need to be defensive. It's an admirable trait."

“I’m not being defensive!”

His barely discernible smile makes you want to run. 

You mess with the brim of your hat as you mumble, “Plenty of people pay attention to you.”

“But we’re not talking about other people.”

You huff. “Why are you being so pushy about this? Does your solution to improving our working relationship involve driving me crazy?”

Another head tilt, another lock of hair dripping down to caress his scarred eyebrow. “Do I drive you crazy?”

Your laugh is shrill. “That’s a stupid question! If you didn’t then we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“Why not?”

You throw up your hands. “Because I wouldn’t waste my time arguing with you! I'd think logically and realize that you're my boss and way too far out of my league. That there's no point in me standing here trying to draw out this conversation since I'm only torturing myself. And don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you didn't already know that I'm in love with you."

You stare at him, accusing, and he looks…

Thunderstruck.

Your anger disappears, replaced by horror as his blue eye widens. His mouth hangs open slightly to reveal the gap in his teeth. His glowing eye is darting around your face, taking in your rapidly reddening cheeks.

Damn you Silco Spisak! Damn you and your stupid hair and your stupid eye, and your stupid, stupid scarred face!

And you're such a fool. 

He grabs your arm as your try to dodge around him.

“Stop."

You blink away tears as you reluctantly obey. Every fiber of your being is desperate to be gone, to find somewhere to hide and never reemerge again.

Idiot. You never learn.

“Let me go,” you waver.

“No.” 

“I said let me go!”

“Please don't struggle! If you would just – agh!”

His head jerks back as if you've punched him, and you stare at him in shock as he bends over, snarling and clutching his eye.

“Silco? What —?”

“The case,” He grinds out through clenched teeth. “In my inner coat pocket. Bring it.”

It takes another pained snarl before your body unlocks and you jump into action. You sprint across the room and scrabble through his coat to find the case.

It’s a Valentino, Your brain thinks senselessly as you pull out what looks like a pencil – no, a medical case. The one he took from your hands only last week. Your terror rises when you pass back behind the counter and find him kneeling on the floor. You fall to your knees next to him.

“What do I do?” You say, voice wavering.

“Inside there is a… syringe… applicator. The syringe is… already loaded. Lock the pieces together. Press and twist.”

It’s clear every word is agony, and your hands shake as you try to do as he says as quickly as possible. The two pieces slip into place so easily you double check to make sure that you did it right.

Your heart is pounding horribly in your chest. "I did it."

“You must inject the solution… in my eye."

“What?”

“Place the needle… above the… damaged… pupil.”

“I can't do that."

"You must."

"I’m not qualified to --- Silco!”

He slumps back with a groan, and you somehow manage to arrest his fall before he's completely prone on the floor. You scuttle around so you can settle his head onto your lap, keeping your left hand on his cheek to keep it steady. 

“You must do it,” He pants. “Please.”

Panic takes over.

But what if you do something wrong? Stab him in the wrong place and make him go blind or give him nerve damage?

It’s the next faint, breathy please that draws your unwilling hand forward so the applicator hovers over his eye. He’s breathing hard, face screwed up in pain even as he looks up into the barrel of the device.

“Don't think. Just pull the trigger."

You do as he says.

Your finger twitches once, and the sound he makes when the needle strikes is so horrible that you choke back a sob.

When he starts to writhe you drop the device to run your thumbs soothingly across his cheeks, whispering that it's going to be alright even as your insides clench painfully with every shudder of his distress.

Terrible minutes pass. It takes far too long for his body to relax and his breathing to normalize. His grip on your hand lessens as the stress lines around his right eye fade. The ruined eye becomes less pulsingly angry, sinking back to its usual dormant embers.

The pain of kneeling on the tiled floor is rapidly catching up to you and you shift slightly to reawaken your sleeping legs. But it's this subtle movement that brings him back from his comatose state.

He shifts, adjusting himself slowly to come to a stand. You struggle to get to your own feet as he leans heavily against the counter. He looks mostly like himself, except for an exhausted droop in his shoulders.

After a moment he clears his throat. “I apologize you had to see me like that. It’s been a long time since I’ve had such a... a violent reaction.”

“What happened?” 

“It’s difficult to explain. But in short, I failed to keep track of the time.”

He closes his eye.

“I’m glad I was here to help."

The words feel woefully inadequate.

“Had you not been here, there’s no knowing how long I would have suffered before making it across the room. I owe you. Again.”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

When you lean against the counter next to him, he opens his eye to gaze steadily into yours.

“You have no idea what you’ve done, and I don’t like to be in debt.”

“Honestly, the only thing you owe me is to never, ever do that again," You rub your chest with a weak laugh. “This isn’t part of the new job description, is it? Have weekly meetings, train to take over hiring, and regularly stab my boss in the eye with a needle? Because I did not enjoy that at all."

His stare is steady, heavy.

You continue to babble nervously. "I mean, what if my hand had slipped and I stabbed your face instead? I don’t think I could have lived with myself if I gave you permanent nerve damage or —”

Your words are cut off by his hand arresting your cheek, and his mouth suddenly pressing hard against yours.

You release a sound of startled surprise before he pulls back, breathing hard, his mouth hovering inches above yours. 

“Now you know,” He says at last, low and rasping.

“Know what?” You ask in a daze.

“You are the solution.”

“Oh. Okay.”

You have barely enough time to speak the words before he’s kissing you again, and your whole world tumbles off its glorious axis.

Chapter Text

Tuesday, October 12 (Pt. 3)

You should have been adequately prepared for what it would mean to kiss Silco. After all, you’d spent several embarrassing evenings imagining many such scenarios in excruciating detail, but nothing could have prepared you for the reality. 

How the man himself completely overtakes your will and reason. 

He takes a brief pause in kissing you to push you into the corner, and the movement surprises you into a gasp, which his mouth almost immediately swallows. 

Cinnamon and cloves flood your senses as he invades your personal space with extreme intentionality. Your arms have wrapped themselves around his neck, and your bodies are pressed against each other. While your heart’s fluttering, his is practically beating at a gallop. His arms encompass you completely, and for a moment you let yourself get lost in the sensation of being overwhelmed, of being breathless between impatient, spin inducing kisses.

Then somewhere in the back of your mind you become aware of a distant jingling.

Silco twitches. The sound gets louder, and that’s when you realize that your leg isn’t tingling, it’s Silco’s phone buzzing. 

At first you wonder if he’s going to ignore it, but then he releases a growl against your mouth and pulls back just far enough to glare in the direction of his pocket.

“Do you need to get that?” You ask breathlessly.

“Most unfortunately.” 

His chest is heaving, and he looks rather annoyed by the interruption. The implication sends a wave of pleasure down to the tips of your toes.

He heaves an enormous sigh and answers the call.

“Silco here.”

Because he hasn’t done more than lean slightly away to take the call, you don’t have a lot of space to move, and his breath stirs a rather large chunk of hair that has slipped out from beneath the bill of your hat. 

Your face is flushed and your head is suddenly, uncannily hot. You lean back slightly to remove the cap, and release your hair from its disheveled ponytail. 

“Can’t this wait till morning?” He asks with all apparent boredom, though he makes no effort to disguise his interest as he watches you run your fingers through your hair.

Judging by the length of the answer, and the long suffering glossy expression that slides across Silco’s face, it can't.

“Very well. Get on with it as quick as you can. I’m in the middle of an important project.”

He reaches forward to grab a lock of hair from your cheek, and brush it behind your ear. Your face tingles where his knuckles brush your skin, and you bite your lip to stop a mad giggle from escaping. He smirks for a moment before shifting into business mode. By all accounts it appears as if he’s forgotten you exist, but you quickly learn better. Every time you shift he moves almost imperceptibly to take up the extra space, as if he’s afraid you’re going to try to slip away.

Yeah, as if.

Besides the edge of the counter pressing into your lower back, you’re wedged rather comfortably into this cozy corner, and you have no intention of leaving it. Your head’s still swimming in a kind of bleary, contented haze as you contemplate the last few minutes. 

Were you just kissing The Eye of Zaun, or was that just some kind of fever dream?

You lick your lips, and taste traces of peppermint and stale smoke.

Yes, definitely real.

Your movement's small, but it’s enough to distract Silco’s attention from his rather blank stare at the wall. His fingers begin to tap on the counter, where he’d settled them only a minute or so before, and his impatience is rubbing off on you. Now that you’ve confirmed that you've most definitely been making out with the man in front of you, there’s nothing that would delight you more than getting back to it.

Another excruciating minute passes. Then Silco's fingers stop tapping.

“Thank you for bringing this to my attention. Have the report sent to my private email. Yes. Very well.”

He sets the phone down on the counter before settling his hand on the other side of you.

“Well?” You ask, unable to bear the weight of his silence (and roving, inscrutable stare) any longer. “Was it important?”

“Quite. In fact, I should look at it as soon as I can.”

“Okay.”

You probably would have made the first move to leave if you weren’t still pinned, but he hasn’t made any attempt to move. He’s staring at you as if trying to divine some singularly life changing answer from every detail of your face. 

Your lips, particularly. 

“There is much I still have to do before the weekend.” He says, raising his fingers to grasp another tendril of hair.

“Yeah," You release a shaky sigh. "I um... I should probably get home too. I have my test tomorrow, and there's a few more modules I should go over to prepare.”

“Of course. I don’t want to distract you from your work.”

Too late. You shiver as his fingers brush against your neck.

He slides his hand behind your neck and leans forward. You mirror the motion, and just when your lips are a breath away, his phone buzzes insistently on the counter.

He pauses with a dark, bleak look at the device. 

You laugh nervously. "You're a very important man tonight."

"So it appears."

His phone buzzes again.

If looks could kill, his glare would have melted it in seconds.

There's no way he'll be able focus with work hanging on the line.

“I uh.. I guess that’s our cue.” 

“Yes. Perhaps it is.”

After a few long beats he sighs, heavily, and lets his hand drop from your neck.

You’re swamped with disappointment when he takes several controlled steps backward and begins to smooth out his tie, which is hanging askew. As he pulls himself together, you feel a bit like you're falling apart.

If only he didn’t have such an iron grip on his self-control. You think miserably.

As you head over to gather your things, you breathe in your first full breath of air in almost an hour. With it comes the lingering scent of Silco, and you close your eyes for a moment to relish it.

“I suppose I’ll see you Saturday, at Jinx’s show.”

“Yes," You heft your bag into the crook of your arm. “I’m really looking forward to it.”

“She’s been working tirelessly to perfect her pieces. There’s one that she hasn’t allowed me to see, because she claims she wants it to be a surprise.”

“I can’t wait to see what it is.”

An awkward pause.

“Do you have the address to the showroom?”

“Not yet.”

“I’ll be sure you have it.”

“Thank you.”

It’s strange to be talking with such deliberate formality again. It feels as if the brief, sensational intimacy you've just experienced is already being relegated to the past. It makes you want to throw your arms around his neck, and kiss him again until you can't think.

Instead, you head for the door.

“Did you park close tonight?”

“Yes, I um… my car’s out back. Sevika finally gave me her parking pass.”

“Good. Then I shall walk you out.”

Awkwardness lingers as you juggle your bag, hat, phone, keys, and water bottle in your measly two hands. They continuously clank against one another, an inharmonious racket chasing you down the hall. You struggle with the door and drop everything unceremoniously into the backseat. You have to steel your nerves before turning around.

His hands are in his pockets, and his hair is glinting silver in the fluorescent lamp behind him, shadowing his features.

“Thank you,” You say.

“For what?”

“For trusting me. With your daughter, and your business and…"

You want to say ‘with you’ , but chicken out at the last second. 

"...and with stabbing you in the eye.”

You laugh a little, and for a brief moment he's still as stone, then at last he inclines his head.

His silence feels oppressive.

On a wild whim you imagine yourself stepping forward to kiss him good-bye, but you're not that brave. No matter how much you wish you were.

“Okay. Well, see you Saturday.” You cast one last smile his direction before sliding into the driver's seat.

You can’t seem to think until you’ve made it several blocks down the street, and are idling at a red light. You try to imagine giving your mother a proper run down about your night, but fail. How on earth could you possibly explain how one random event led to the other? How you’d gone from arguing to stabbing him in the eye to being held so tightly in his arms that you could barely breathe?

A flush makes its way up your neck. 

We kissed. We finally kissed. And it hardly feels real.

When you arrive home your sister is asleep, which is a rare occurrence, but you count your blessings as it allows you to go directly to your room without having to pull a lame excuse out of your butt to avoid conversation. You wouldn’t be able to talk without dissolving into a giggling, grinning idiot, and she wouldn’t be able to help saying ‘ I told you so’, and you aren’t sure you could handle her being superior right now. Not when you’re still feeling buzzy and warm in the aftermath.

You slip out of your shoes to toss them in the closet. Based on the state of Silco’s gift box, you deduce your sister has been snooping around. Usually that would rankle you, but at the moment you simply feel a fond exasperation. You run your hand over the material of the dress briefly before pushing it back into the box and closing the lid.

It was a beautiful dress, and it fit you just right, just like Silco’s arms.

Focus, you’ve got to finish studying for that test, remember?

Except your mental focus is quite fractured, and remains so despite your most herculean efforts. Still you have to push on, because Silco’s counting on you to pass your test on the first try, and you’re not about to let the man himself distract you into failing.

When you finish the modules, you’re so tired that you fall asleep the second your head hits the pillow. You wake up to your alarm a few hours later, and are surprisingly refreshed. But you want nothing more than to simply lie there, remembering every little detail of the night before. But after several foggy moments of being lost in bliss, Jorts stampedes in, yowling.

You try to ignore her – this has always had a fifty-fifty success rate in the past – but then Crocs joins in, and their desperate cries break your will completely.

“Alright, alright, I’m coming! Sheesh, you’d think we never feed you guys.” 

As you throw off the covers, they immediately dart from the room, no doubt heading to the kitchen to start circling their half-full bowls of food, looking pathetic. When you arrive you realize you’re only partially right. Their bowls are at least a quarter full, and once you fill them, they spend mere moments sniffing the bowls - then tentatively tasting the contents - before heading to the couch to clean themselves.

“I can’t believe you guys.” You grouch.

But you have to admit, as far as wake up calls go, they were effective.

As you enjoy a belated stretch you peer up at the clock. It’s almost 8:45, which means you have about two hours before your test begins, and you still have to eat, dress, make sure your desk is completely clean, and set the rest of your room in order.

You got this. Just… try to forget about him long enough to get this done, then you can reward yourself by thinking about him again, okay?

A fairly good plan, but your execution is a bit shoddy. 

As you try to fluff your blankets and pillows without thinking about him - and hide all the books on your desk without seeing his face - you realize it's a hopeless case. You decide to skip the part where you forget about him, and choose to simply keep thinking about him instead.

After all, there are worse ways to keep your mind off your nerves.

Wednesday, October 13

You pass the test two hours later with flying colors.

“As if there was any doubt?” Allie texts from her bedroom.

“Congratulations sweetheart!” Your mother replies, with several heart emojis.

“Please email me the certificate whenever it becomes available.” Is Silco’s rather lack-luster reply. 

When you respond affirmatively, and receive no other text in response, you find your enthusiasm flagging. Yet the second your sister emerges from her room, brandishing her Lego flower set, you find yourself perking back up.

“Let’s start the Star Wars marathon a day early, in celebration! My client chose to reschedule for the 400th time, and my entire day’s free.”

“Heck yes! But we have to get snacks.”

“Of course, that’s a must.”

“Trader Joe’s?”

“As if I really have to answer that.”

She throws on a sweatsuit, and you slip out of your semi-professional looking shirt to put on a sweater. As you drive to the store your sister, who usually has no trouble coming up with conversation, falls into an almost moody silence.

You do your level best to draw her out.

“We decorated the whole shop last night. Issa brought out all this stuff from the theater, and we hung all these really cool, creepy paintings on the wall and draped fake cobwebs on them. I think Silco liked it. At least, he didn’t say he didn’t.”

“Silco came to your decorating party?” She asks, interest clearly piqued.

“Well no, not exactly. He came when we were almost done, to finish some work. He had some papers he needed me to look over. And there were a few other things he uh… wanted to iron out with me. About how the shop was going to be run and the chain of command and all that.”

“Ah.”

“Yep.”

Your awkwardness seems lost on her, and she’s being uncharacteristically uncurious about your love life. It’s frustrating because for once, you actually want to talk about it.

You keep thinking, that after the night you just had, that he would say something. Give some acknowledgement of the time you spent together, kissing...

He’s not that kind of person. You argue with yourself.

Yeah I know, but I’m not looking for anything mushy. Just something like, ‘hey, about last night, let’s do that again sometime. Or maybe, all the time. Yours truly, Silco’.

You heave a sigh.

Okay, maybe you're being a bit unrealistic with your expectations. 

But still. You can’t stop thinking about the man, and it would be nice to get some indication from him that he can’t stop thinking about you too.

That would be very nice, in fact.

You have to force yourself not to check you phone for the 4000th time.

When you get to Trader Joe’s you exchange little conversation with your sister except what you may or may not want to eat, and it isn’t until you pass by the dairy aisle that you have an inkling of the reason for her despondency.

Marcus. He's gone this week, training.

Yeah, Marcus. He’s probably the problem.

But you’re not exactly sure how to broach the subject until you’re back in the car, driving home.

“Sooo… how’s Mark’s Ass doing? Kicking butts and taking names?”

“I don’t know,” She answers with a shrug. “I haven’t heard from him since he left.”

“Really?” 

“Apparently there’s a phone ban at this bootcamp thing he’s going to, unless it’s an emergency. It’s weird not being able to text him. Not that he was a great texter or anything. He prefers phone calls. The weirdo.”

You smile ruefully. “I think a lot of men prefer phone calls to texts.”

“Yeah,” She heaves a sigh. “I miss him though. Is that lame?”

Yesterday you might have said ‘ yeah, kinda ’, but today you think you might be starting to feel her pain. 

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Thanks," She says with a sigh. “Well. How are things with you and Silco? You said he talked to you afterward?"

"Yeah."

"What did he say? Did he talk about the birds and the bees? Did he take you into his arms and confess his undying love for you?”

“Er, no… Not exactly.”

You can feel her squinting at you. “Not exactly? What’s that supposed to mean? Did you – no. No! You didn’t kiss Silco, did you? Did you kiss Silco? Did he kiss you?!”

You're blushing too furiously to deny it.

She screams, and the car swerves so violently that you release a scream of your own. “Allie! The road!”

“Who cares about the road?! I can’t believe you kissed Silco, and you didn’t tell me immediately! I need to hear all the details, right now. Come on, spill it or I’ll crash the car and force you to tell the story to me, and the hot paramedics who cart us away from the scene!”

Allie is the perfect audience member for a good story, and she listens raptly to your stilted, giddy, heavily paraphrased recounting of the previous evening with all the enthusiasm you could have asked for.

“So when I tried to move past him, he grabbed me. I tried to get free, but he wouldn’t let me go and then... and then he pulled me back and kissed me.”

For some reason you don't want to recount the scene where Silco fell to the floor, helpless, while you ran to grab his syringe. It felt too much like a betrayal of trust.

But Allie doesn't seem to care that your story ended with such an anticlimax. She's acting as if you’ve just handed her the world.

“Holy shit, I can’t believe you confessed your undying love to Silco!”

“I didn’t confess my undying love! Just my frustrated and confused love.”

“Does it even matter? You told him you loved him! After telling me that you would absolutely NEVER fall in love with a guy after knowing him for a WEEK…”

“Hey, I’ve known him for two weeks!” You huff, but there’s a grudging smile on your face.

Allie’s enthusiasm is ridiculously catching.

“I knew you were going to be insufferable about this.” 

“And you were right," She grins. "So was it just one kiss, or did you totally make out?”

“Wha – How is that any of your business?”

“You totally made out!” She crows. “I can’t wait to see how you break the news to mom.”

“There’s no news, okay? Silco and I kissed a few times, and there’s nothing else to it.”

She frowns. “What do you mean?”

“I mean we were interrupted by a phone call."

"So you guys didn't talk about going out? Or like, finding another time to neck or anything?”

"No. We sort of just… realized it was late and mutually decided it was time for me to go."

“Oh.”

Her reaction makes you uneasy.

It's weird, now that you think about it. You'd told him you loved him, and at the end of the night, you didn't get so much as a smile good-bye. But then again this was Silco you were talking about. The Eye of Zaun. A world-weary, international man of mystery.

Navigating a relationship with him was bound to be outside the norm.

You weren't repeating history with him.

Right?

You drive in silence the rest of the way home.

What exactly is your relationship with Silco now? Has it changed at all? Or are you worse off than you were before? Because there's certainly no going back from where you've been. He knows you love him.

It'll be up to him to make the next move.

And if he doesn't?

You shake your head to clear the thought.

Stop overthinking it, will you? Just enjoy the fact that you finally kissed him.

It certainly helps dispel some of the gloom.

When Allie finds a parking space and turns off the ignition, she doesn't immediately leave the car. She grabs your hand and looks at you seriously.

"I'm happy for you sis, really. I've been hoping you'd fall in love ever since Jeremiah. You deserve to be loved, and I hope Silco's the guy for the job because I can't remember the last time you've been this happy."

Your smile grows a bit wobbly. "Thanks sis." 

“You're welcome. And I only have one more question before I'll let it rest."

"Okay."

Her gaze is sober.

"Was there any tongue involved?”

It takes you a beat to catch on.

“Allie!” You squeal.

You snatch your hand away as she sends you a wolfish grin.

“What? Inquiring minds want to know!”

“Well I’m not answering that!”

“That just makes me think there was.”

“You can think whatever you want.”

“Thanks, I will.”

She opens the door, expression smug, and shuts it behind her. You bury your face in your hands.

You need a moment to hide from the sudden, stomach swooping memory of your gasp being swallowed by Silco’s mouth, and how his tongue had probed oh so fleetingly against your lips...

Damn you Silco Spisak. Damn you and your tongue!

Chapter Text

Thursday, October 14th – Friday, October 15th

On Thursday the clocks run slow, you receive no important text messages (namely, messages from Silco), and you feel like you’re dying a slow death. 

On Friday you receive no important messages (again , which you acknowledge with much confusion and disappointment), and nothing interesting happens. Unless you count having a ten minute conversation with your favorite customer, a professor from ZCC. This effectively takes your mind off a certain person for, well...

Ten minutes. 

There’s also the appearance of a certain preppy, tiny-dog toting cheer squad girl to break up the monotony. She enthusiastically reminds you that you’d bumped into each other in front of your apartment, and that: “I know you said you weren't hiring, but it would be super dope to work here!”

“Er, thank you… Sarah,” You just manage to spy her name on the rather over-decorated resume in your hand. “I appreciate you coming in.”

“So should I look out for your text?” She asks hopefully.

She doesn’t exactly embody the vibe of the shop, but you don’t want to dash her hopes.

“I’ll be passing this on to my manager, Sevika,” You hedge, “she’ll let you know in the next week or so if she’s interested.”

“Oh!” Her entire person jangles in surprise – on account of the dog collar, leash, keys, giant bedazzled bag, and whatnot. “I thought you were the manager?”

You frown slightly before schooling your features. You didn’t know your becoming manager was common knowledge. 

“Not yet, but I will be soon. I’m training right now.”

“Okay, bet! So does that mean you’re gonna like, work directly for Silco now?”

“Yep.”

She leans forward, and whispers conspiratorially, “Is he really as terrifying as everyone says?”

You bite the inside of your cheek as your eyes flit towards the counter in the corner. Your cheeks heat. “Well, no. I don’t think so. I mean I did at first, but not now. I think he’s probably more intimidating, or um…”

Dangerous, sexy, and a really, really good kisser?

“Yeah, absolutely terrifying,” Jefferson chimes in as he slides the girl her drink. “I saw him for the first time in my life on Tuesday…”

This sparks immediate attention, and as Jefferson launches into his own sparkling rendition of the story you excuse yourself to the back room. In the relative privacy of the food prep area you allow yourself to crumble just a fraction. You put your hands on your hips and close your eyes, trying hard to stuff down the swell of feelings, a terrible mix of euphoric memory and anxious expectation of the future.

The man hasn’t had the decency to leave you alone since Tuesday night – in the figurative sense rather than the literal. In the literal sense he’s left you well enough alone, except for when he sent you the address for the show yesterday (and nothing more).

Not that you expected him to add anything else. Or maybe you did. You’d hoped he would, anyway.

That poisonous dagger, hope.

Every minute it seems, something reminds you of him, especially here in the shop. You swear you catch his scent when you walk past the bar, like he’s tattooed himself there permanently in your senses.

Your current struggle is how to balance your obsession with him so you can at least function at the basic level.

Without feeling absolutely miserable.

So far you haven’t come up with any viable ideas.

“Hey, you alright?”

Your eyes fly open to find Amber watching you, her hooded brown eyes narrowed in worry.

You dredge up a smile. “Yeah thanks, I’m good. Just a little tired today.”

Her face relaxes. “Yeah me too. I totally stayed up too late last night. School is really harshing my vibe, and while that may or may not be my fault because I procrastinate, it’s like… I still want to have a life, you know? And since Netflix is my life and readily available at all hours of the day…”

You nod vigorously, and follow her back into the bar area to listen to her chat. Sarah the dog girl has left, and Jefferson now jumps in to join in the conversation with Amber, leaving you free to spare one last, mournful look at the corner counter. You reminisce about Silco’s mouth one last time before releasing a sigh.

By habit more than anything you slip your phone out of your back pocket and check your messages. To your disappointment (but not surprise) you see no messages from him waiting for you. But to your surprise, you do see a message from your mom.

“Hey sweetheart! What are you wearing to Jinx’s show tomorrow night? I don’t want to come underdressed!”

You blink. You can’t remember having invited her, though maybe you mentioned it offhand.

“I didn’t realize you were going!”

Her reply is almost immediate. “Jinx DM’d me on Facebook yesterday and gave me the address. She said she really wanted me to come. Isn’t that so sweet?”

You wonder how on earth Jinx managed to find your mother on Facebook – especially since her profile is professional, and doesn’t include her married name –  but after a moment you conclude that it isn’t that shocking at all. 

The girl is her father’s daughter. 

Ugh.

You text her your clothing plan, which you hadn’t actually considered until this moment.

“Why don’t you drive to my house, and we can carpool the rest of the way together?”

The idea of having your mom with you to face Silco is more than a little comforting. “Okay, sounds good! I’ll probably be at your house by 6.”

You release a frustrated huff when, as soon as you send the text, your phone gives up the ghost and dies.

“Anybody have a charger for an iPhone 8?”

“Sorry. Google phone.”

“And I have a Samsung.”

This launches them into a long, passionate exchange about the benefits of non-Apple products, which helps you not at all except to remind you that once you become the manager and get a raise, you’ll be well within your rights to buy a new phone.

Maybe one that doesn’t die literally every day.

The shift ends, and it’s grocery day, so you head to the store dehydrated and hungry. Unfortunately you don’t have a plan because you forgot to make a list, so your plan becomes an inefficient wander around the store, grabbing things at random off the shelves depending on your mood. An hour later you make it home and immediately plug in your phone. As you start putting away the groceries you realize that you’ve grabbed cucumber instead of zucchini, and an artichoke instead of broccoli.

You and your sister never eat cucumbers or artichokes. 

Or zucchini for that matter.

With a sigh you put them in your drawer and take a mental note to bring them to your mom’s tomorrow to see if she wants them. 

A swamp of nerves floods your entire body at the thought of the show.

Tomorrow you’ll see him. You feel like you’re going to fly apart, or maybe just fall to pieces. 

Every couple of minutes you agonize over whether he regrets kissing you.  After all, you were the one who confessed your love, and he never said he felt the same. 

He certainly acted like he felt the same. 

Or at least, he felt something. How could he kiss anybody the way he kissed you, and not mean it just a little bit? You’ve been tossing and turning over it at night, and add onto that Allie’s confusion that you didn’t talk about the next step in your relationship….

You put your face in your hands.

You’re getting dizzy from all the circles you're running in your head.

He called you his solution. But his solution to what? And how? Did the kiss mean anything at all, or was it a spur of the moment emotion, his way of burning you out of his system?

The unknown is a terrible, insurmountable hurdle. 

I think I might throw up.

Instead you take a few deep breaths, swallow hard, and with a feverish energy begin to clean the house. You attack parts of the living room that clearly haven’t been touched since you moved in, and you empty out the utensil tray to dump out the crumbs and wash it. The floors have never seen such a thorough scrubbing, and as you prepare to wipe down the microwave, your sister comes home.

After an initial hello, she remains unusually silent. 

The sound of the Brillo wars with the music blaring from the TV. 

“So, how was your day?” Allie asks loudly.

“Fine.”

“Have you been cleaning all day?”

“Yep. This place hasn’t seen a good wipe down in years, and I have more time on my hands than’s good for me.”

There’s a very pregnant pause.

“Is it Silco?”

You jab at a particularly stubborn piece of hardened cheese.

She eventually leaves. You continue your cleaning, although a sight more miserable than you were before. Also, you’re now trying (and failing) not to be full of self-pity. As you scrub, your brain begins to chant in rhythm.

He loves me, he loves me not. He loves me, he loves me not…

“Okay sis, let’s go.”

“Look, I’m kind of in the middle of this, and I don’t feel like –”

“Don’t care. Go get dressed.”

You’re very, very annoyed at her high handed tone, but after scowling over your shoulder at her unflinching gaze, you rip off the gloves and slouch to your room. 

“And make sure you dress in warm, totally comfy clothes!” She calls.

It’s with much ill will and muttering that you follow her orders, but when you reappear she has an armful of blankets and the cats’ full body harnesses. Your mood lifts a fraction as you grasp her plan.

Crocs and Jorts are circling your ankles, meowing like little fiends, and when Allie tosses Jorts’ blue harness to you the cat scrambles over to let you slip it around her wriggling body.

Allie grabs her keys and jerks her head towards the door. Everyone piles into her car, and Crocs immediately takes up a sentry position in the backseat while you keep Jorts clutched in your lap. She doesn’t seem to mind, thankfully, at least for the time being. She stares out the window, pupils dilated, the purr factory rumbling as you scratch her cheeks.

The sound momentarily soothes the ache in your soul.

You make a short detour through Target for snacks and Starbucks before turning on the highway heading towards Piltover.

“So,” Allie says at last. “You doing okay?”

“No,” You say shortly, and you’re unable to say more because your throat tightens. 

You close your eyes and attempt to take long, even breaths, though you only succeed in pressing out the tears that have been building up all day. As you release your first hiccuping sob, you feel her hand slip into yours, and you grasp it like a lifeline.

The trip towards the Piltover coastline is just under an hour, and neither of you speak a word the entire ride. She changes the music to something calm, and you eventually cry yourself out. You work your way through the last tissues in her car tissue box, and break into the crumpled napkins she keeps stashed in the middle console.

The sun’s setting by the time you make it to the water front, and as is your custom, she makes a turn that will take you on a long, winding road along the coast. 

Your mind is a vortex as you stare out at the last vestiges of sunlight fading on the water.

“I guess I’m just worried that it didn’t mean anything,” You say thickly, nose stuffed. “The fact that I… I said I loved him and then he… he never said anything back. He just kissed me. I mean, I say ‘just’ like that isn’t what I wanted. I’m happy it happened. But ….”

You take a few moments to sniffle. “What if it was just a game to him? And now that he knows he’s my weakness, he’s going to use that against me, just like Jeremiah did?”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“How do you know?”

“He kissed you with tongue.”

“Allie...”

“I'm serious. Guys don’t kiss with tongue unless they’re really into you, and I can tell you that from personal experience.”

"But what if he's just interested in, you know..."

"Sex?"

"Yeah."

"I don't think so sis. If he only wanted sex from you, he would have had it already. I mean you told him you loved him, and you were kissing alone in the shop. If there was ever a better opportunity, that was it."

You bend over to hide your flaming face, under the guise of untangling Jorts’ leash from your bag. “Okay, well I still feel like a fool. I mean I laid it all out, and then when it was time to go he just… let me leave.”

“I felt the same way after my first date with Marcus.”

“That’s because it was a total disaster.”

“Yeah, but I was in the same spot you are now. I was the first to say I love you, and the first to go in for the kiss. I don’t know if you know this, but he still hasn’t said I love you back.”

You gape up at her. “What?”

She nods. “Yep. But the truth is, he doesn’t have to. I know he does, even if he finds it hard to say the words. It’s more about the things he does. He shows his love by spending time with me, and giving me things. And he’s not hard to read, so I can usually see what he wants to say without him needing to say it.”

“But doesn’t that make you insecure? Not knowing?”

“Sometimes. But then he holds me in his arms and kisses me and I know exactly how he feels.” 

You ponder her words as she pulls over on the side of the road, where a small parking lot indicates beach entry. You’re transported momentarily back into Silco’s arms. You can still feel the passion of his embrace, the desperation in the way he held you, like he was determined to never let you go.

The car turns off and she sighs. “Look sis, I know that I don’t know Silco at all, but he doesn’t strike me as a stupid man, or the type of man who rushes into things. He was probably caught off guard by what you told him, and just needed time to figure out how he feels. And since he isn’t a good texter...”

“How do you know that?”

“I looked at your phone while you were changing and saw all his texts. It’s definitely not his best form of communication.”

“Allie,” You say with exasperation, but there’s no real ire behind it.

“I wanted to know what was happening.”

You shake your head and gather up your things to take the steep, serpentine path down to the sand. You place your blankets while the cats gambole through the nearby scrub brush.

“Can I give you a little sisterly advice?” She says, after you've settled.

“Shoot.”

“I think you should wait him out.” 

You frown at her.

“Marcus needed me to pursue him because he didn’t have a lot of self-confidence. But if there’s one thing I know about Silco, it's that he has a ton of it. I think he’s going to say something to you tomorrow at the show, and whatever it is, it’ll be clear as crystal so you'll know exactly how he feels. So be patient. See what happens. And if he’s as smart as I think he is, then he'll tell you that he's madly in love with you.”

Wouldn't that be nice.

You bite the inside of your cheek as you consider a jumble of possible conversations with Silco in your head. You flex your toes on the blanket, and Jorts appears out of nowhere to pounce on them. You play with her until she gets bored and bounds away. For some time there's nothing except the sound of the waves crashing, and the wind stirring the scrub brush. Your mind quiets as you watch the white caps foam along the shoreline.

Then a buzz from your pocket rips you from your tranquility. You hurriedly pull out your phone, heart pounding…

But it’s only a notification letting you know that your phone is, once again, in low battery mode.

“Stupid thing,” You mutter, and power it off. “I don’t know what’s gotten into it.”

“It’s clearly tired, and wants a break from you constantly googling 'Shirtless pics of Silco Spisak'."

You turn pink. “That was one time okay?”

“Uh huh.”

“Like you can sit on your high horse. I’ve seen your camera roll. You have a ton of weird pictures of Marcus that you found on the internet.”

“Yes I do,” She says with a satisfied smile. “And I regret nothing.”

You wish you had an ounce of her self assurance. You wish you were bold enough to ask Silco right out if he loves you too. You wish you were with him right now, running a thumb down his cheek, pressing a kiss to the upturned corner of his mouth.

“It’s hard, isn’t it? Being apart for so long.”

You hear the wistfulness in her voice.

“Yeah.”

She starts playing with the sand. “Sometimes I forget what life was like before I had Marcus to think about. I don’t even remember what my dreams were.”

“To be the most famous tattoo artist in Zaun.”

“Right, but besides that. Who am I, without him?”

“The same amazing Allie you’ve always been," You say, bumping into her shoulder. "Fiercely loyal, a stupid good artist, a supportive and loving sister. And really, really annoying.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, I know I’m super good at being annoying.”

You snicker. “I mean it. You're the best sister I could ask for. I don’t know where I’d be without you. Probably pretty lonely and a lot less fun. I laugh the most when I'm with you.”

"Thanks sis." 

"You're welcome," You look out at the surf and take in a deep breath. “And thanks for this. I’ve missed our late night hangouts.”

“Me too. I didn’t realize it until now. Let’s make a deal not to forget about each other even though we both have stupid boys to manage.”

You grin as she pulls cheetos out of one of her many bags, and offers it to you. 

“Deal.”

Chapter Text

Saturday, October 16th

Despite having stayed up disgustingly late with your sister, you wake up early. 

It’s cruel, really, when you think about it. One of your few days off this week, and for once you have no reason to be up early. You lie in bed with your eyes closed, hoping your body will take the hint and let you sleep for at least another hour, but alas…

No such luck. 

So you get up and make some coffee. The only event on your agenda is going to Jinx’s show, which means your schedule consists of getting dressed and going at your mom’s house at 6pm.

You look at the clock on the wall. 

5:45am. 

Silco’s probably been up for hours. 

Which begs an interesting and important question: does he ever work from home? And if so, does he wear one of his expensive suits and dress shoes, or does he lounge around in his pajamas?

What kind of pajamas does an illusive business mogul wear, anyway?

The sudden image of a mussy haired Silco reclining in his home office chair – wearing a 90’s grunge band tee and a pair of red plaid lounge pants – is almost enough to make you lose your mind.

Come on woman, pull yourself together!

You’re going to have to work very hard to fill the time today, or else you’ll fall into an endless vacuum of daydreaming.

Is that a bad thing though?

Yes.

You brush your teeth vigorously and on a whim get dressed to go work out at the gym. The drive is consumed with wondering what you’re going to do when you get there, and whether or not Silco has a morning workout routine.

He probably uses a Peloton or something. Or goes to an exclusive club for rich people so he doesn’t have to wait for sweaty strangers to stop texting so he can use their machine.

Luckily the place is mostly empty when you arrive. You thought it would be hard to focus, but as soon as your headphones go on, all that exists is you, moving your body, and completing the next rep. It’s a glorious forty minutes of Silco free bliss. Then you go to change out of your shoes in the locker room and see your sweaty reflection in the mirror.

What on earth convinced him to be interested in you?

It’s not that you don’t think you’re attractive. You’re attractive enough, smart enough, and capable enough to make your way in the world. But what kills you the most is wondering why such a world-weary, successful man would look at you and think: I want this one. The woman who argues with me, and who's professional resume is pathetically small in comparison to my own. 

It’s the question that’s been haunting you, and you aren't sure it has an answer because you don’t even know if he does want you.

But Allie's right. He isn’t the type to let his passions run away with him, and he doesn’t like to be misunderstood. He’ll let you know his intentions as soon as he’s decided what they are.

Which is what makes this waiting feel like a slow torture.

You make it back home by 7am to shower, and think about how you wish you'd been scheduled to work today, because at least then you’d have had something to do for 7 of the 11 hours left in your Saturday.

After showering you wander into the kitchen and snoop around the fridge and pantry to see if there’s anything to eat.

It’s one of those “technically there is stuff to eat, but you'd have to chop it up and/or cook it before you can eat it” situations, and that’s as good as “there’s nothing to eat” in your book. You might have 11 hours before you have to leave, but you aren’t about to spend any of that time cooking, no matter how desperate you are.

Does Silco like to cook, or does he have a cook?

You picture him standing at his stovetop with a rumpled towel thrown over his shoulder (wearing a “world’s best dad” apron, obviously), sauteing something as Jinx sits cross-legged on the island, chatting about her newest piece she’s going to reveal at the show. You have no trouble at all imagining yourself sitting on one of those high chairs, sipping coffee as you listen to her ramble.

An ache settles deep in your chest.

You snag an apple and decide now’s as good a time as any to start your laundry.

You put in a load before grabbing a book at random from the stack of partially read books in your room (which is getting embarrassingly out of hand), and settle on the couch to read. You just manage to remember where you are in the story, who the characters are, and why you care what happens to them, when your sister starts rustling around in her room.

Your concentration breaks stunningly fast, and you look at the wall, hopeful. 

8:01am. 

Dear God, it’s only been an hour.

Your sister emerges from her room like a zombie, grunting and dragging her mobile tattooing equipment to the door. She has a few clients today, all of them house calls. You envy her schedule. You’d give anything to be distracted from the nerves clenching your stomach right now (except cooking, of course, as previously discussed). 

Though moving at the pace of a sloth, your sister still manages to leave the house in record time. From the time she appears, it takes her a grand total of 15 minutes to get dressed, grab her things, and leave. 

After the door closes behind her you wander to your room to put the book back on the half-read pile (where it will probably remain unopened for another six months), and realize that you don’t have anything to give Jinx to celebrate her show.

You vaguely recall seeing an antique/vintage shop during your frantic run-around of The Fissures trying to find Jinx and Ekko. A quick check of the shop hours shows it opens at 10:30. If that doesn’t pan out, Target is always a good fallback. At the very least you can find a cheesy five dollar movie or a fake flower lego set she’d probably enjoy building.

Now all you have to do is hang around the house till 10:15, and you’ll be as good as gold.

An hour and a half and counting….

9:45am, One Hour Later.

Nope. 

You can’t take it any longer.

There’s simply nothing left to wait around for. Your laundry is hanging up or in the drier, and the next load is started. Your room is already tidier than it’s ever been, and you’d rather go out driving and burn up gas for no reason than be stuck at home with nothing to do but think.

You put on shoes and head to the car.

There’s a coffee shop across the street from The Fissures that you hope will keep you entertained long enough for the thrift shop to open. It’s a fifteen minute drive time, and by the time you park and order an americano, you only have twenty minutes to wait.

You settle on one of the chairs on the deck and consider how time can be a real kick in the pants. At this point you’d welcome any distraction, even one in the form of Charles Rodriguez.  

Why isn’t he around when I actually need him?

You sip and scroll mindlessly on TikTok, and before you realize it it’s almost 10:45.

The thrift shop does, in fact, have some really fun things, but nothing large enough to constitute a good gift. You buy a few interesting trinkets that you think scream “Jinx”, head to Target to fill in the gaps, then go for lunch at Jericho’s. You aren’t very hungry, but you sit outside anyway and make a show of eating as you take out your phone to scroll until the 20% low battery warning forces you to slip it back into your pocket. This sends you down the bunny trail of thinking about what kind of phone you want to get as an upgrade. 

Probably one that’s just old enough to be reasonably priced, but new enough not to become obsolete in the next five years. You also have to consider how many cute phone cases are available for the model you choose.

It’s a very delicate balance.

It’s almost 1:30 when you give up the facade of eating, pack up, and wander around Trader Joe’s wondering (unhelpfully) if Silco’s day is dragging along as slowly as yours, or if he even notices the time at all.

What exactly does he do all day long? 

What’s he doing right now?

You grab cookies, a bouquet of flowers, and a card for Jinx.

As you fill out the card and put together her gift bag, you put on a mediocre looking netflix fantasy series you’ve been thinking about for the last four months. It does the job of sucking up the rest of the day. As you start on your make-up, you generously rate the first 3 episodes 6.7 stars out of 10 because while the show concept is pretty basic and the tropes clichéd, the cutesy emotional support side characters look like they’re going to end up together. 

Your make-up application is fairly minimal because your hands are shaking and you aren’t sure you can manage a clean winged liner. Mascara, blush, and a muted pink lipstick become the finished look.

As you blow dry your hair you consider what accessories to wear, your thoughts drift towards the dress and jewels still sitting in your room. It’s probably time to return them. It’s nerve wracking to think about the couple thousand dollars worth of borrowed jewelry just sitting in the bottom of your musty apartment closet.

After putting on your chosen outfit you collect the box, and Jinx's gift, and put them by the door. You also collect the random vegetables you still need to give to your mom, and put it next your suddenly very large pile of things to carry before settling on the arm of the couch to wait.

Fifteen minutes till your GPS’s suggested leave time, you decide you don’t like what you’re wearing and run to the bedroom to tear through your closet in a frenzy. You end up leaving five minutes late, and only slightly more satisfied with the pants you chose to change into.

You somehow make up the time on the way to your parents’ house, which is good because you know your mother, and the chances of her being ready when you walk in the door are slim to none.

“Hello sweetheart! I’m almost ready, I just need a few more minutes to do my hair.”

Resigned, you put the vegetables in her fridge and rummage in one of the many junk drawers in the kitchen until you find a cord you can use to plug in your phone. It’s not dying exactly, but you don’t want to take any chances.

Your foot starts to wiggle as the clock hits 6:30 with no sign of your mother’s emergence. At 6:38 she trails out to ask your opinion on what coat to wear, and at 6:41 she says she just needs to find her shoes. You finally manage to hustle her out the front door at 6:48.

The law ceases to exist as you speed your way to the venue. You mom chats mindlessly during the drive, and you’re grateful she doesn’t seem to mind that it’s an entirely one-sided conversation. Even if your stomach wasn’t doing somersaults, your throat seems incapable of forming any sound except the occasional grunt. Despite your best efforts, you’re ten minutes late, and the derelict parking lot is already entirely full. You have to circle twice before you find an unmarked spot to squeeze your car into. 

You emerge clutching Jinx’s gift bag like it’s a lifeline.

There are several smoke-stacked buildings looming in the twilight, but only one has light pouring from its broken windows like a beacon, and music bumping like a club. You follow the signs taking you down a path through the broken chain link fence, and link your arm with your mom’s to keep yourself from power-walking down the leaf strewn walkway. 

Your pulse matches the heavy EDM base that’s already threatening to give you a headache as you skirt a circle of drinking and laughing people to climb the short railed staircase to the entry door. With an unsteady breath you pull the handle and allow your mom to step through first, then you step from the darkness into the strange world of art.

The building is several stories tall, and the space is flooded with industrial lighting. Canvases are propped up against massive, derelict machines, and hang in broken windows. Abandoned shipping containers are being used to showcase individual artists’ pieces, while a few interesting installations have been strung up haphazardly along industrial sized cables. Al fresco pieces are also on display, one of which appears to have been painted purely for social media purposes. 

There’s a line in front of the mural that says “Welcome To The Wild’s of Wonderland!”, flanked by two grotesque and horrifying looking people in costume (who you think are supposed to be the cheshire cat and mad hatter).

The showcase appears to extend the entire building.

After a moment of hovering near the door to get your bearings, you and your mom step towards the square of heavy wooden dinner tables which are covered with finger foods –  hors d'oeuvres, sweets, and also a large selection of bottled drinks (most of which bear the Last Drop label, you note). People seem to occupy every available floor space, and you’re trying hard to figure out why you recognize a few of them when Sevika materializes at your shoulder. She looks for all the world like she’s having the worst time of her life.

“Finally, you’re here. I thought I was going to go out of my goddamn mind.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I told Silco it was a bad idea to leave the kid unsupervised, and now she’s so hyped up on red bulls and sour patch kids that she’s bouncing off the fuckin’ walls. Sorry Leslie. Excuse the french.”

She looks only mildly apologetic as she waves her hand at your mother. “I was on the verge of stabbing one of them with a blunt fork, but now that your daughter’s here it’s less likely I’ll get locked away for double homicide.”

Double?

“What’s up with Silco?” You ask casually as she pushes forward to grab a Shimmer, “Is he hyped up on red bull too?”

She pops the cap off the bottle by slamming it on the edge of the scuffed wood table. This earns a few affronted glances from people nearby, which she ignores. After several gulps she wipes her face on her arm and grabs a piece of cake with her bare hands. 

“The man’s been as twitchy as his daughter the last few days. But you’re here now, and I’ll be damned if that won’t settle him down.”

Your heart is thumping wildly as you watch her shovel the rest of the cake into her mouth. Out of the corner of your eye you can see your mother watching you with narrowed eyes, and it takes everything you have not to grin like an absolute maniac.

You help settle Silco?

“Jinx’s install is upstairs, in the north east office of the building,” Sevika says after licking her fingers. “The girl’s probably crawling around the ceiling somewhere, head spinning. But if you can’t find her just listen for the sound of buzzing blood suckers and you’ll find the boss.”

It’s too loud for you to waste your breath asking who the blood suckers are, and Sevika’s already dismissed you by turning more fully towards the snack table.

You take to the metal staircase that’s halfway down the length of the building, dodging around a large group congregated at the top of the stairs. One of them gives you a nod, and it isn’t until you squeeze past him that his face registers in your brain. He was the bouncer from The Last Drip who was keeping the drunk at bay when you’d gone to ask for the wifi.

The other faces you'd recognized start to become clearer in your memory. They all worked at The Last Drop.

Is the entire building full of Silco’s employees?

You shake your head as you turn north east on the catwalk, heading towards a good sized, L-shaped room in the corner. It’s just as busy up here as it is down below, except there’s less room to walk so the going is slow. You wiggle through the masses, and at last you manage to fight your way through the entryway. 

You immediately recognize Jinx’s paintings, but as Sevika predicted, the girl’s nowhere in sight. Neither is your mother, for that matter, which you don’t realize until you turn to point something out to her. 

She must have gotten distracted by one of the other installations.

You’re about to go looking for her when a large canvas catches your attention.

Jinx’s new piece.

You walk over to examine it.

The portrait is propped up on a desk in full display, full of Jinx's signature emotive brush strokes and bold style. The background is a hypnotic swirl of black and white, drawing your eye to two large heads painted cheek to cheek in the epicenter of the painting. 

The faces both appear to be Jinx. The one on the left is soft and pink, and looks for all the world as though it’s glowing. She has luminous blue eyes and an expression of serenity. The jinx on the right is blue and bruised, the edges of her face harsh and angular. But there’s a haughty, elegant tilt to her mouth, and her eyes burn a vivid, hot pink. A ghostly face has been transposed over the top of her double portrait, creating a third face torn between the two expressions.

You stand there for some time, admiring the piece, and lean forward to try to see how she managed to paint such clean lines when you catch sight of another canvas tucked behind the desk. This one is much smaller, and is swaddled in a paint flecked piece of fabric. It’s mostly hidden, and the wrapping looks hastily applied.

Your interest is piqued. 

The fabric is flopping at the corner, revealing a gold gilded frame. You’re tempted to tug it open to peek inside, but before you indulge your curiosity you take a covert look around.

You try to play it casual (and definitely not suspicious). There doesn’t seem to be anyone watching, but there are a lot of people packed into the room. You sweep the crowd and zero in on a particularly dense collection of people just outside the door on the opposite side of the room. A few of them are members of the ZCC board.

Blood suckers.

You straighten up. Where there’s a buzz, there’s sure to be…

Silco.

A body shifts, and there he is, all sharp profiled and pursed lips. 

You've been waiting for this moment for three days, and unabashedly drink in the sight of him. 

Though his eyepatch is firmly in place, he still radiates his usual careless elegance. He’s standing with his hands clasped behind his back, dressed in an impressive long coat with a gold trimmed collar.

He shifts from foot to foot, his chin jutting out as he speaks. The longer you watch him, the more you recognize the agitation Sevika was referring to. There’s a stiffness to his shoulders, and his fingers are twitching behind his back. Annoyance gilts his features, deepening the lines between his eyebrows. There’s also a small scrunch to his nose, causing his haughty contempt to appear to be more than just a facade.

He’s coiled tight and ready to spring.

The person to his left looks like they're speaking to him, and he shifts with an impatient shrug, turning his head as he does so to spare the room a sharp glance.

It immediately cuts across you.

Your heart triples its beat as he doubles back. Your eyes lock, and you stare at each other for a deep, endless moment.

The hard lines in his face soften.

A muscle in his cheek twitches, and you swear there's a hint of a smile hiding at the corner of his mouth. 

You manage a small, self-conscious smile in return.

Hello Silco. I’ve missed you.

Then he's gone, lost behind a gaggle of laughing college students, and the spell is broken. 

You start to breathe again only after you turn away to stare vaguely at Jinx's self portrait. You clench the bag in your hand, vaguely aware that it's shaking. When did the white spots start dancing in front of your eyes?

Now what?

Seeing him removed the will for independent movement.

“OMG YOU’RE HERE!!!!”

Jinx’s sneak attack takes you by surprise, as does the kiss she plants on your cheek.

You manage to say something that sounds like her name, hiding inside a shrill laugh. The next words that come out of your mouth are mostly automatic.

“Congratulations on your show and the new piece! It's amazing! What’s it called?”

“Just Like You Were Always Meant To Be. My first attempt was supposed to be a take on having an angel and demon on my shoulder, but that canvas was destroyed in the rage monster episode I had the other day so I painted this one instead. OMG wait, are those for me?!” 

She snatches the flowers from your hand and breathes in deep before clutching them to her chest. “They’re so freakin’ gorgeous! Thank you!”

“You’re welcome. I also got you these,” You’re suddenly aware of the fact that the girl is wearing what looks like a rag-tag assortment of designer brands as you hand her the gift bag. “It’s not much but I um… I thought of you when I saw them.”

The girl tears out the wrapping paper and immediately shrieks. “OMG are these disco ball earrings?!”

Without preamble she tugs out the studs in her ears and slips in the hooks. She shakes her head before striking a dramatic pose and demanding, “How do they look? Amazing? I bet they look amazing. What do you think daddy?”

“I think they suit you perfectly.”

Your head whips around and there he is, standing with his hands still clasped behind his back. The surprise of seeing him so close numbs you to reason, and your gaze lingers on his face, appreciating the way the collar of his coat brushes against his cheekbones.

Has he always looked cute and intimidating, or am I just going crazy?

At some point you realize he’s watching you watch him, which is embarrassing.

You force yourself to face Jinx, and watch her unwrap the rest of the gifts. She's suitably excited about each item, as silly and small as they are, and when she’s finished she throws her arms around you in a tight hug. 

“Thank you so much! Now I have something for you. I just finished it last night.” She tugs you around so that you face the desk. “It’s time to reveal my great pièce de résistance!”

“You mean the surprise painting isn’t your self portrait?”

She snorts. “That's not even close to my best work. Now this… this is a true creation!”

She moves her self portrait rather impatiently to the floor, and with a flourish pulls the fabric swaddled canvas from behind the desk to set it in its place. She then takes hold of the fabric and tugs it free of the frame.

“Et voila!”

Awestruck doesn't even begin to explain how you feel at the revelation.

It's a renaissance style oil painting of a woman in a red stained suit of armor. She's peering out at the audience with a tired, yet serene look in her eye as she rests on a long sword. At her feet is a dragon, alive but subdued, unscathed save for its single, ruined eye. Around these central figures are small details of trees and castle, horses and soldiers.

“It’s you,” Jinx says, suddenly shy. “I was painting you in that red suit, but then I ruined that canvas too. I was pretty bummed about it until I got this idea in Art History class. We were learning about St. George and The Dragon, and I thought you’d look really cool in a suit of armor instead.”

"I do look really cool in armor." You mumble, struggling to process this news.

Now that you’re paying attention, there’s no doubt it's you. Jinx somehow managed to capture your face, flyaway hair, and the shape of your eyes, though the woman is far too regal to possibly be you.

The girl is watching you anxiously, biting her lip as she rocks back and forth onto her toes. “Well? What do you think?”

“Jinx, it’s… I don’t even know what to say.”

"It's stunning."

You're thrown by Silco’s coat brushing suddenly against your arm. Your heart pounds as you watch him give the canvas a careful once over, then turn to look you in the eye.

“Absolute perfection.”

Chapter Text

Saturday, October 16 (Part 2)

“You managed to capture her expression rather eloquently,” Silco drawls. “However, you failed to include her dimples.”

“Well yeah. But you don’t really see them unless she’s like, really smiling and stuff.”

He noticed your dimples? Well of course he did, he notices everything. But the fact that he noticed noticed them is another conversation entirely.

You’re feeling quite pleased with life. Nothing can bring you down, not since your imagination has decided to go down a bunny trail theorizing what else he’s noticed about you (maybe the mischievous twinkle in your eye that obviously shines when you tell a sly joke). It's a banshee scream that jars you from your pleasant delusions. Jinx whips out her phone and looks at the caller ID. A smile appears for a moment before she bites her lip. She's wearing a conflicted expression as she side-eyes her father, and you catch a glimpse of a familiar picture – Jinx’s face pressed up against Ekko’s –  before she hides the screen against her leg.

“I’ll be right back, I have to take this call.”

Silco nods absently, and she bounds away with ill-disguised anticipation. 

“It’s the boy, isn’t it?”

You don’t answer, which you know is answer enough. 

He sighs. “I fear my daughter has inherited my disposition for keeping secrets.”

“I think she’s afraid you won’t approve.”

“I don’t approve.”

“Then you can’t really blame her for sneaking around.”

“It’s not that I wish to dislike Ekko, but he and his parading band of do-gooders have caused me several major headaches in the past year.”

“Maybe that’s part of his appeal.”

He gives you a bleak look. “That he’s a perennial thorn in my side?”

You shake your head. “No. I think she likes that he stands up to you. I mean, a boy who can look you in the eye and not back down has guts.”

“Or foolish arrogance.”

You grin, “Maybe. But have you tried to figure out which one it is yet?”

“I have an entire file on my computer dedicated to Ekko, so yes, I’d say so.”

"And?"

"I still haven't landed on a favorable answer."

“Well, what if you tried to look at him as a boy your daughter likes? Seems like Jinx is determined to have him in her life whether you like it or not. You don’t have to welcome him with open arms, but… well, it’s like they say. Keep your friends close and enemies closer, right?”

He smirks. “You’re beginning to sound somewhat mercenary.”

“You must be rubbing off on me.”

“Good. You could use more mettle to temper your flowered view of the world.”

“And you could use a few more flowers in yours.”

He smiles at that.

“Just think about it. Not only will you have an excuse to keep a closer eye on Ekko, but the more time he spends with Jinx, the fewer headaches you’ll have. You’re killing two birds with one stone.”

“You're assuming that Jinx won’t simply join him in his escapades.”

“Good point. I’m already picking up on your bad habits, so it’s fair to assume she’ll pick up on his.”

“Little minx,” He scoffs, but the smile in his voice is unmistakable.

“He and Jinx will have to go on a normal date eventually.”

“True. I have recently begun rearranging my schedule in order to condense my pockets of free time. So far I have only come up with the odd hour or so on the weekends.”

The sudden swing in conversation to himself after mentioning dates makes your heart dance.

You try to play it cool, and not read into it too much.

Please Lord, please...

“Well you're a very busy man."

He hems.

"So... What are you going to use those hours for? Training?” 

“No. I was hoping to use that time for something far more pleasant than business.”

He has the audacity to run a finger along your painted counterpart’s face, tracing the fly-away hairs at her cheek. Your heart kickstarts, and for stupid (and obvious) reasons, you flush.

“This month’s schedule is rather inflexible. I’m afraid we won’t be able to spend much time together outside of work, so long as you’re content to sit around in various offices. Most of them are reasonably comfortable.”

You stare at him in silence, your brain gears grinding.

What’s he saying? Is he saying what you think he’s saying? Or is he just saying what you hope he’s saying?

He clears his throat. “It's just a thought.”

“No, yeah, it’s a good thought!” You hasten to assure him, and his shoulders relax. “I mean, I would really like that.”

“And it would be more convenient if we were to share the same space as you complete the tasks I assign to you. That way I can be present to answer any questions you may have.”

“Yeah, definitely.”

“It’s a temporary solution at least. I know it’s not entirely ideal….”

“It’s fine, honestly. I don’t care what I’m doing, so long as I’m with you.”

He looks momentarily taken aback, then after a beat his head dips, and his good eye searches your face. Butterflies box madly in your stomach as you stare back.

“I was right,” He murmurs. "You are dangerous."

"That's debatable."

"I'd be happy to debate it with you any time."

"Okay. Pick the date and time, and I'll be there."

He chuckles softly, revealing a brief flash of teeth before it closes into a small, crooked smile. 

For once the lines around his eyes are from a smile instead of a frown, and you’d like to believe you're one of the few people in the world who can wipe away his world weariness. Anyway, you wouldn’t mind making him smile like this for a few more hours.

Or maybe forever.

“There you are darling!”

Silco straightens up slowly. The softness of his features are immediately wiped away, replaced by a polite, professional veneer.

You’re not so good at pulling yourself back together. You feel light headed, and suddenly very hot.

You hope your grin doesn’t look too strained as you turn to say hello. “Hey mom! Enjoying the exhibition?”

“I am. And it’s certainly proving to be an eye-opening experience.”

Her sharp smile skewers you.

“You must be Leslie,” Silco says smoothly, extending a hand.

She takes it and gives it a firm squeeze. “And you’re Silco. Hope I wasn’t interrupting anything?”

“Nothing that won’t keep for another day. We were simply discussing our plans for the week.”

“Hmm. You have a habit of monopolizing my daughter’s time outside of work hours.”

“As a matter of fact, we weren’t speaking of business,” He answers. “But of pleasure."

Your eyes and mouth widen as your eyes dart between his calm, collected demeanor and your mom's ever narrowing eyes.

Silco continues, pleasantly. "As a career woman yourself, I'm sure you can understand the necessity of keeping one's inner circle small and carefully selected. I don’t have a lot of spare time, but when I do I prefer to spend it with those who are most important to me. ”

The warmth from that statement settles in slowly.

Holy cow.

Silco just told your mother you were important to him. Most important to him.

You aren’t sure what to do with yourself. Maybe put your face in your hands and squeal like a little girl. Instead you clasp your hands in front of you and maintain what you hope is an outward expression of demure appreciation.

Inside, you’re definitely squealing like a little girl.

“I can’t blame you for wanting to keep good company.” Your mom says at last, rather grudgingly.

Hope rears its glorious head. It’s not a concession, but she didn’t shoot him down point blank. That’s more than you could have asked for.

Eventually she drops out of the staring contest to look at you. 

“Your sister called. She said your phone went straight to voicemail.”

It takes a moment for her words to register, then another few for your brain to process the words and put them into action. You dig around in your purse with clumsy hands. “I didn’t hear it ring, but … oh. It’s dead again.”

“That occurs quite frequently, I believe.”

“Yes,” You answer Silco, still flustering under your mom’s watchful gaze. “I was going to buy another one after I… well, soon.”

“Hmm.”

Now you’re being watched closely by both of them. Sweat breaks out across your neck.

“What does Allie want?”

“She said her GPS is spotty, and wanted to confirm the address with you.”

“Okay. Well I’ve got the directions right here. Can I borrow your phone? I’ll just pop outside real quick and uh… make sure she isn’t lost in a bog or something.”

You laugh nervously.

“There’s a balcony just through there,” Silco gestures to an unobtrusive door on the other side of the desk. “I’ve used it many times to take calls.”

You nod, walking away somewhat reluctantly from what’s sure to be a highly charged, thinly veiled conversation. Your mom will probably play the not-so-subtle interrogation routine, which she's employed on all of the boyfriends Allie bothered to bring around. But she has to know Silco’s too clever for her psychological traps, so maybe she’ll try the straight shooting card. 

Silco also might have a thing or two up his sleeve, since he chose to reveal his hand so early in the game.

You're buzzy all over just thinking about it.

Well, whatever cards he plays better be good, because your mom's not going to let up until she’s positive he isn’t going to be Jeremiah 2.0.

You slip out onto the chilly balcony – which is little more than a narrow sheet of metal connected to a fire escape – and dial your sister. 

Oh what you wouldn’t give to be your armor-wearing painted counterpart right now, snooping.

“Finally!” Allie says impatiently.

“Sorry, my phone died.”

“Again?”

“Yeah.”

“You really need a new phone.”

“I know. So where are you exactly?”

“On an abandoned road next to a dark and creepy forest with a quarter tank of gas.”

She’s panicking, you can hear it in your voice.

You take great pains to keep your voice calm. “Still got that Thomas Guide under your seat?”

“Right now it’s in my lap being useless.”

“Passed any street signs recently?”

“Something basic like ‘Hill Street’ or ‘Vine’.”

“Okay. Let’s see what the directions say…”

You take out the crumpled paper, and it’s a painstaking couple of minutes trying to discover Allie's current location. After several arguments, petty name callings, and more than a few dropped calls, she finds the right road and is on her way in the right direction. 

“Thanks pal,” She says with relief. “Now you have to stay on the phone with me until I get there.”

“Well that’s going to be a little difficult.”

“Why? Because Silco’s there? I should remind you that men are temporary, sisters are forever.”

You roll your eyes and lean against the railing. “No, I just mean the cell service."

“Right, okay. But he is there, isn't he? Did he talk to you?”

“He did, but he’s talking to mom now, believe it or not.”

“Woah! Okay, I need to hear about this asap! Did he… ? Yo … Silc – !”

The call drops. 

You briefly consider heading back inside, tempted by thoughts of eavesdropping on Silco and your mother, but immediately discard it when the phone begins to ring.

“Okay so talk to me. What did he say to you? What did you say to him? What did mom say to him and him say to mom?”

“He invited me to come study with him. I guess his schedule’s pretty tight until November. But uh… he told mom I was important to him.”

“He told mom you were important?”

“Yep.”

“And what did she say?”

“She said she couldn’t blame him for having good taste.”

“Classic mom.”

“Yeah.”

“Wow. I can’t believe you have a real sugar daddy.”

“He’s totally going to buy me a yacht.”

“Seriously?!”

“No not seriously!” You laugh, and you turn as light and music intrude upon your solitude.

The groan of aged metal shuts both away, revealing Silco. Your stomach flutters as you straighten up, but he lifts a hand, revealing a cigar. He paces to the other side of the landing as he lights it.

“Hello? Sis?”

“Hey, yeah, sorry," You stammer. "What did you say?”

“Did I cut out?”

“Uh…” You eye Silco lounging against the railing. “Yep. You’re going to have to repeat everything you just said.”

“I said what happens next for you guys?”

“I don’t know. We’ll probably just play it by ear.”

“What about dates and hangouts?”

“Probably not a lot this month, but in November there’ll be more time to actually plan stuff.”

“Gosh, I can’t even begin to imagine what kinds of places Silco is going to take you for dates. Are we talking super exclusive clubs or like, cheap dive diners?”

“I don’t know.”

“Geez you’re being awfully unhelpful right now. Wait, Silco’s there isn’t he?”

“Yep.”

“Then what are you doing talking to me?”

“You asked me to stay on the line.”

“Yeah but that was before you were ‘important’ to him! Now get! But don’t forget to meet me in the parking lot. I’ll probably be there in like, ten, fifteen minutes.”

“Okay, sounds good. Love you.”

“Love you bye!”

You slip the phone into your bag, and let a few second pass as you observe Silco out of the corner of your eye. He seems relaxed, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed, sucking on his cigar. You can't really read how he's feeling.

“So um... how was it? With my mom?"

His face is revealed by the faintly smoldering tip of his cigar. "Most illuminating."

"Who won the battle of wits?” You ask lightly.

“It was a stalemate. Though in truth she would have derailed me had she not been using tactics similarly employed by Jinx. I give your mother credit for her adaptability.”

“She’s a psychologist. She knows how to style-step during delicate situations.”

“Now who does that remind me of?” He releases a steady stream of smoke before smiling faintly.

"The apple doesn't fall far from the tree I guess." 

“Yes. Though you are rather more diplomatic than your mother."

"It's a survival tactic."

"Which works out in your favor. And mine," He heaves a sigh as he presses the tip of his cigar into the railing. "It will be a relief to have you nearby to offer advice for my daughter, when I’m at a loss.”

He meanders closer, and you automatically take a few steps to meet him.

“I think you’ve been doing really well on your own.”

“Well enough, but you have reminded me time and again how little I understand a female frame of thinking. Sevika has been a poor example in that regard.”

You laugh. “I’ll bet. Well, I’ll do my best to help in any way I can.”

“I know you will. It's one of your many assets.”

You meet him halfway across the landing and lean back against the rail. He puts one hand on it as he stares out into the darkness.

Jinx.

You wonder what she’ll think about your relationship with her father. Being friends with her is one thing, but trying to fill the role of mother figure is another. You’re not sure you can do it. Like Jinx pointed out, you’re only old enough to be like a sister. Sister, though, is something you’re already pretty good at.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“Jinx. What’s she going to think? About, well –”

“Us?” 

As he continues to gaze out into the night, you savor his use of the word.

There’s an Us.

Maybe in your wildest dreams did you think it would actually happen. It’s like a fairytale, or a six-episode Marvel spin off show set in an alternate reality. 

There’s an us!

You feel like you’re glowing.

At last he smiles. “I imagine she’ll throw a party. I'm sure it hasn't escaped your notice that the girl has all but begged you to take me off her hands since you arrived in our lives.”

You cross your arms. “Yeah, but that was just teasing. Theory always looks better than reality.”

He turns his steady gaze on you. “My daughter is double-minded about many things, but when it comes to family she has particular ideas about who is allowed to stay in our innermost circle. She chose you, and she won’t change her mind about it simply because our situation has... developed further."

You're quiet for a moment. “I was worried my mom wouldn’t like me going out with you."

"Why?"

"Because you’re..."

"Old?"

"My boss.”

"She did refer frequently to the unorthodoxy of our relationship. I did my best to assure her of my good intentions, though I'm not certain she trusts my word."

"Give her enough time, and she'll come around."

"Time certainly reveals all truths."

He frowns, and you wish you could wipe the lines away.

“You know, I don't think I ever thanked you for lending me that dress. Or the jewelry. They were beautiful.”

"You chose to wear only the earrings, I believe."

"Yes. I appreciated your generosity, but it felt too... I don't know. I didn't feel right wearing anything else. I'm a pretty simple girl."

"What you chose suited you. In truth, there was no need to further to gild the lily."

You dip your head at the compliment. "I brought them with me tonight, so I could give them back. They're in my car."

He waves a tired hand. "Keep them and do with them as you will. Many of them were once gifts intended for Jinx, but she, like you, shuns such finery in favor of personal expression.”

You bite your lip.

"What?"

“It’s kind of funny. You’re the richest man in Zaun, and you can’t use any of your money to impress the women in your life.”

“The irony is not lost upon me.”

His expression is so bleak that you have to laugh. “At least you still have your good looks.”

“You're treading on very thin ice.”

“I’m not kidding! I think you’re very handsome.”

He stares into the trees. “I know what I am.”

Your heart squeezes as you take in his rigid profile. You long to throw your arms around him, but don't quite have the courage.

“You don’t have to agree with me about it, but I hope you’ll trust me.”

“I do trust you.”

“Then trust me about this," You say earnestly. "When I say I like your face, I’m not lying. And you would know, because I’m a terrible liar.” 

”You are.”

"I know I am."

He swallows convulsively, returning your smile with a small one of his own before returning to his perusal of the forest.

You follow his line of sight, breathing in deep.

Cool, loamy earth fill your senses, along with the ghost of Silco's cigar smoke. There are no windows on this side of the factory, and the trees are tall enough to block out all but the faintest slivers of moonlight. Your eyes adjust slowly to the darkness until you can trace the shadows to the river, where the torpid, muddy waters have been transformed into a silvering ribbon. 

Ever so slowly you tune into the ambiance of the forest. The music is muffled by the sheer mass of the building, allowing a serenade of crickets and toads to reach you on the balcony. Their song is unbroken, save for an occasional, mysterious creak or snap of a branch. Somewhere from the woods comes a mournful hoot of an owl.

It’s a perfect Halloween night.

“I have a request to make of you.” Silco says quietly.

“Hmm?” 

“I hope that you will be sure to keep your mother updated as to our situation.”

“Sure but… why?”

“She claimed that if I failed to take care of you, there would be no place I could hide.”

You stifle a smile.

“She also may have mentioned something about a shovel."

This time a laugh does escape. “I’m sorry, my mom can be a little intense sometimes.” 

“Something which I understand perfectly.”

He kisses you once on the temple, radiating warm tingles down the side of your face. He then slips an arm around your waist. You're still processing your incandescent happiness as you lay your head against his shoulder with a sigh.

You were wrong, before. Now it's the perfect Halloween night.

And it might actually be the most perfect night of your life.

Chapter Text

Saturday, October 16 (part 3)

Contentment seeps into your bones, but on the tail end is a deepening awareness of time. You’ll have to leave to meet your sister soon, and that means removing yourself from Silco’s side. The idea is deeply dissatisfying. 

“I promised I’d meet my sister in the parking lot.”

“Did you.”

He doesn’t let you go, and you don’t try to leave.

“I won’t hear the end of it if I break my promise because of you.”

“We may not get any more time alone tonight.”

“True. I guess she can wait just another minute.”

“And I do have one more thing I need to discuss with you, as a matter of importance.”

“Business?”

“In a way.”

“Business is a perfectly valid excuse to be late. What is it?”

He releases you with a grave expression. “I would rather not disclose our relationship to anyone outside of our immediate circle, for the time being. I've already given my family the requisite warnings, and I'd appreciate it if you gave your family the same.”

You frown at him. “Sure, but... Why?”

“There are certain… formalities that must be dealt with, and arrangements to be made before I can make this official.”

“Formalities?”

“The ZCC board has an archaic way of thinking, as Charles demonstrated by his assumption of your sudden rise to position. Some time must pass before I announce our relationship in an official capacity.”

You stare at his stoic profile. “Why does it matter what the ZCC board thinks?”

“Their opinions matter little. I merely wish to protect you.”

“Protect me from what?”

“As I’ve mentioned before, anyone in relationship with me will have a target on their back. I don’t wish to place you in undue danger.”

“But I’ll have that target sooner or later.”

“Yes, if you choose to stay.”

“Why wouldn’t I stay?”

His expression is hard to read in the dark, but you catch a slight twitch of a cheek muscle. “You haven’t spent enough time in my world to have properly assessed the situation."

"Well... regardless of our personal relationship, I'm still going to manage one of your businesses."

"This is a different sort of danger entirely," He answers harshly. "And I don’t waste time on empty warnings. As soon as your name is linked with mine in an exclusive capacity, you will garner unpleasant attention. I wish to protect you from unnecessary risk.”

“I'm not afraid."

"You should be."

You scowl.

You can't scare me away that easily.

"I’m not going anywhere.”

“I hope not.” 

The phone vibrates and you check the message. “She’s five minutes out.”

“It’s probably best if you’re seen reentering the building alone. I’ll have one of my men go with you to the parking lot.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“It’s not up for discussion.”

“I thought you were trying to keep our relationship a low profile? Because I’m pretty sure someone will notice if you keep sending one of your guys with me everywhere I go as an escort.”

It’s his turn to scowl, but he doesn’t refute the argument. “Rest assured, this inconvenience will not last long. Two months at most, to establish our working relationship and get them used to the idea that you will be a new permanent fixture.”

“Sure.”

“In January I’ll bring you along to meetings. By that time training will be an adequate excuse. It will be good for us to appear at public gatherings together, without Jinx.”

“And maybe by February we can hold hands in public, and really give them something to talk about.” 

His glare is withering.

You smooth out his lapels and pat his chest with an innocent smile. “I’d better go before anyone sees us. Being alone together probably isn’t allowed until around month four.”

“You’re mocking me.”

“It’s not mocking, it’s called teasing. I wouldn’t dare do it unless I was sure I was safe from repercussions.”

“Safe from repercussions?”

You'd been slowly backing away, but he stops your movement with one swift step forward. 

“I’m afraid you’ve sorely misjudged your situation," He murmurs, drawing thrills from the top of your head to the tips of your toes.

"Oh yeah?"

The way he draws you into his arms is quickly becoming your favorite sensation.

"I can’t allow you to get away with such blatant disrespect. I have a certain reputation to uphold.”

You swallow hard, mouth suddenly dry as his eye zeros in on your lips.

“Do I at least get a warning before the official reprimand?”

“I’m afraid not.” 

“Then I... I guess I should tell you that putting your arms around my waist probably isn’t allowed since you haven’t filed an official report for the ZCC board's approva– mpff!”

His kiss is smothering, but not enough to quash your giggles. 

When he pauses, you gasp, “If you’re trying to dissuade me from teasing you, you’re doing a terrible job."

“I suppose I need a bit more practice.”

"Yeah, maybe you should just - hmmm..."

You're like clay in his hands as his fingers find your hair and waist. Electric jolts scuttle across every nerve. You catch flashes of a devilish smirk as his lips burn away conscious thought. Being in his arms is living in a blaze, and every touch starts a new fire.

If feels as if there isn't a bare piece of skin that he hasn't scorched his mark on.

He's busy exploring your collarbone when the phone chime rudely intrudes, but you’re so far gone that you hardly remember what it means. But when his phone joins in, the cacophony is too much for either of you to ignore.

“It’s her,” You pant, checking the message. “I really should go.”

“It seems I am… wanted, as well.”

His panting breaths tickle your neck.

“My mom will get suspicious if I stay out here much longer. And I don’t want to give her an excuse to call a hitman so early in our relationship.”

“I appreciate the sentiment.”

He raises his eyes to yours. His eyepatch has fallen off, and his hair is hopelessly ruffled. You attempt to smooth it back as best as you can while under the scrutiny of his burning eye. 

“Okay, that should… oh, hold on," You squint at his right cheek. “My lipstick’s all over your face.”

“Ah.”

You rummage in your purse for a tissue then turn on the phone light. You have to stifle a laugh at the sight of him standing stoically before you, faint red lip marks pocking his face. The choir of woodland creatures slowly filters back into your subconscious as you track down every wayward smudge, gently turning his face this way and that to make sure you haven’t missed anything.

You eye him closely. “I think that’s all of it.”

“Don’t forget yours.”

“My…? Oh, my lipstick. Right.”

You pull out a compact mirror and assess the damage. It’s not as bad as you thought it’d be, but if anyone was paying attention it would certainly lead to some awkward questions.

You clean up what you can before reapplying a new layer of red. You pucker into the mirror. "All good?"

"You missed something.”

"Where?" 

He takes the tissue from you and painstaking wipes at something just below your ear. He frowns before moving to your collarbone.

Eventually he clears his throat. “It appears there may be a few ah… marks, left over. I would suggest raising the collar of your coat for the rest of the evening.”

Your face burns. “Oh, yeah, okay. For sure. I um… Yes. I'll do that.”

The phone vibrates again, saving you from the embarrassment of having to come up with an appropriate good-bye to such a statement. 

You rearrange your hair, which has likely lost all semblance of being styled, and tug up your collar as you back towards the door. “Will I be able to talk to you again tonight?”

“Unlikely. I believe several board members have attempted to contact me in the last five minutes.”

He takes a cigar from his pocket, and proceeds to light it. He doesn't look to be in any hurry.

“Okay. Well. I guess I’ll see you when I see you.”

“Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“I believe you have an appointment at the firing range with Jinx and Sevika. Jinx said you pinkie swore that you’d go.”

A memory of the promise, extracted in the spray paint aisle of The Lanes, floats slowly into mind. “I totally forgot about that. I usually put that kind of thing in my phone calendar, but I haven’t been able to update it since… well, anyway. I’m glad I didn’t plan anything.”

“As am I. It will be good for you to understand the basics of handling a firearm. I won’t be joining you, but I will be there to see you off.”

“Okay. See you tomorrow, then.”

You don’t think anyone notices your silent reentry, or your quick exit through the gallery, down the stairs, and out the front door. Your mind is simultaneously numb, and in a state of complete bliss. You aren’t even sure you remember the dark journey to the parking lot, where your sister is pacing underneath a lamppost.

To your surprise she’s on the phone, and when she spots you she puts up her finger.

You don’t mind waiting. It’ll give you more time to collect yourself, and your thoughts, which are zooming around your mind like Jorts at 2am. There's nothing concrete to focus on, more like impressions, and flashes of feeling that leave you hot and tingling all over. 

There’s a faint stinging on your neck, and when you reach up to feel it, the skin is sore. It should be embarrassing, but all you can think about is how carefully he traced your jawline with his lips before making his way there...

“Yeah, my sister’s here so I gotta go. Yeah. Tell Ren I said hi and I can’t wait to see her. ‘Kay, love you, bye.” She hangs up and grins at you like a fool. “Hi sis!”

“Hey, sorry I was late. I was –”

“With Silco, I know. Let me guess, you guys were necking?”

“Er… I, um… I mean… yes?”

“I knew it. Somebody owes me ten bucks.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know, but somebody,” She links her arm through yours. “And don’t worry, I forgive you. I got to talk to Marcus while I waited.”

As you head back to the gallery she proceeds to talk about what Marcus has been doing for the last week while you're only half listening. She has so much to share that you couldn’t shut her up even if you wanted to. And you don’t. You’re glad she’s distracted, because you aren’t quite ready to share all the details of your evening with Allie. Or with anyone, for that matter. You’d rather just keep it all inside you like a delicious secret.

Your mother joins you and your sister as soon as you walk back through the door. You have no idea where she’s been, and aren’t brave enough to ask her. You’re afraid that if you open up the table for conversation, she’ll ask about where you've been, and you aren't quite ready to face her formidable intuition. Thankfully Allie’s busy sharing how her day went, keeping your mom too occupied to ask the questions you’re sure are burning in the back of her mind every time she looks at you.

True to his prediction, you don’t talk to or see Silco again, but you swear you can feel eyes following you and your family around the building. This feeling doesn't leave you, and you last another hour and a half before you start to get antsy. Thankfully your mom seems to be losing steam as well, and it's agreed that it's time to head home. Jinx manages to find you just as you’re about to head out and look for her.

“You didn’t forget about tomorrow, did you?” She asks anxiously.

“Your dad reminded me. What time do you want me at your house?”

“7am sharp!”

“Okay, I’ll be there.”

She squeals, and when she comes in for a hug a spicy cologne lingers on her skin that you don't remember smelling before. You have a sneaking suspicion who it’s from. 

"Have a good evening?" You whisper.

"I could ask you the same thing." She whispers back, and for a moment you simply stare at each other.

Then you realize. Silco's cologne is probably all over you.

Panic threatens to bubble over, but Jinx doesn't seem too bothered. In fact, the twinkle in her eye indicates she's incredibly pleased.

She gives you a impish smile. “See you tomorrow Toots.”

“Yeah. Night.”

The trip to the car is relatively quiet, but as soon as you pull out of the dirt drive, your mom goes off.

“If you're going to do this I need you to be careful, and very, very smart."

She's approving.

Your mom's approving!

You nod emphatically. "Of course I will."

"Hold your boundaries. Not to put too fine a point on it, but he's a man of the world. He’ll probably have certain expectations about, well… intercourse.”

“I don’t think either of us are ready for that,” You say, face flushing. “We're going to take it slow. Besides, you taught me never to give too much to a man when there’s been no commitment.”

She looks relieved. “Good girl. I just don’t want him to rush you into anything you don’t want to do. I have a feeling he can be persuasive.”

Your fingers tighten on the steering wheel. “He won’t, I promise.” 

But the words taste like a lie.

The truth is that he could never rush you into anything you didn’t want to do, because there isn’t a thing in this world that you wouldn’t want to do with him. Which puts you in a very precarious place. Like a knife's edge, or a tight rope.

“I’ll be praying for you.”

Giddy flutters and guilt flood you in equal measure. "Thanks.”

You fight the urge to pull your collar closer around your neck. 

You’ve been raised a good Christian girl with old-fashioned dreams about romance, so this isn't a bridge you thought you'd arrive at for a long time. But now that you're here, you hope Silco will never ask you to cross it, because though you’re a good Christian girl with old-fashioned dreams about romance, you’re not sure you’ll have the strength to burn down the bridge to hell until you’re already on the other side.

And God help me, because we both know I won’t.

Chapter Text

Sunday, October 17th

Sleep performance when you drop into bed could be termed abysmal at worst, fitful at best. You're tired, but somehow can’t keep your eyes closed for longer than 20 minutes at a time. The lines between wakefulness and sleep are mostly blurred, and every time your brain jolts you out of a muddied dream, you think of him. 

Silco’s memory isn’t warm like the sun. He’s more like a pale flame, flickering on the edge of your consciousness. You aren’t sure if he’s really there, or if he’s imagined. The scent of him still lingers faintly on your skin, and like a ghost who’s sheet slips around the corner just as you turn to face its light, he haunts you. 

You toss and turn through the night, and by the time you roll out of bed at 6am, you’re almost as desperate to see him as you are to get more sleep.

“Can you come just a smidge earlier pleeeease?”

Jinx doesn’t need to urge you twice, but you’re moving at a clumsy, corpse-like pace towards your departure time. In the end, you’re forced to choose between looking awake, or feeling alive. Feeling alive wins out. Food comes before make-up, although you do manage to swipe on some mascara before tripping out the door, hastily made coffee in hand.

Preppy dog girl – Sarah? – is jingling by as you hurry down the sidewalk, and waves enthusiastically.

“I’m so excited to interview with you!”

Your mind skitters as you struggle to extract your keys from your bag. “Interview?”

“Yeah! Sevika said we’re going to have a nice little chat Friday at 11! I’m like, super nervous.” She looks around and lowers her voice as if there’s someone nearby she doesn’t want listening in on the conversation (which there isn’t). “ Sevika scares me so bad. Do you have any advice so I can like, impress her?”

"She's not impressed very easily," You say, itching to keep walking towards your car. “But if you show up as yourself, be professional, and answer any questions she asks as confidently as you can, then you should be alright.”

“Oh okay, wow! Thanks a bunch.”

You inch away, “See you Friday?”

She brightens. “See you Friday!”

You practically jog to your car.

The sky is overcast, and the wind causes the trees to ripple like waves as you drive by. The world feels like a sun-leeched oil painting you’d find in an attic somewhere, with only vague tints of color left from the original pigments. Not even the witches and ghouls staked out in Zaunite yards are wearing their magical, frightful visages, looking more like the miserable lawn ornaments they truly are.

You’re inexplicably anxious, and even though the drive takes less time than it does to blink, you pull into the driveway with butterflies boxing in your stomach.

“I’m here,” You text Jinx, sitting in your car.

“I’m in my room!!”  

You push open the back door feeling a bit like an intruder. The house is quiet, and you find yourself walking into the kitchen on tiptoe before setting your things on a chair by the island.

The house feels different today, like a friend you haven’t seen in a long time, and aren’t quite sure if you’re still friends anymore. But as you climb the stairs you get glimpses of familiarity. The paintings on the walls – mostly landscape paintings, Jinx’s paintings, or self-portraits of Jinx – are vaguely recognizable from your harried flight through the house ten days ago. Photographs are strangely non-existent, making Silco feel more phantom-like than ever. 

Is this really his home? There are quiet rustlings behind a heavy, ornate wooden door – one of the ones that you’d marked as possibly Silco’s office during your worried tour. You pause in front of it to listen, but the sounds stop, and you can’t help feeling like whoever’s behind it knows you’re there. 

The house is practically silent except for the ticking of a clock somewhere unseen, and music wafting down from Jinx’s room. 

You raise your fist, but can’t quite bring yourself to knock. He’s probably busy (He said he’d be busy), but you don’t want to bother him (or make him regret that he agreed to date you in the first place). But he did agree to date you, so that means you're allowed to have some interactions that aren’t planned out months in advance.

Right?

And he did say he wanted to talk to you before you left for the firing range. The real trouble is deciding if you should talk to him now and get it over with, or go up to see why Jinx wanted you here early. Not that you want to just get it over with. In fact you want to see him more now than ever, just to prove that this is real, that you really belong here, that –

“Well, this is awkward.”

You spin around to catch Sevika lounging against the opposite wall, one hand stuffed in a bag of candy.

“I didn’t realize it was so fucking hard to knock on a door.”

“I uh – well I just –”

“You know he’s watching you, right? Through the security cams? He probably thinks you had a heart attack. I was worried myself, until you started talking out loud like a lunatic.”

“I just don’t know if I’m allowed to –”

“Allowed?” She snorts in an extremely unladylike way before pushing off the wall. “The Eye of Zaun lets you walk into his fucking house unannounced, without calling in his own personal hit squad. I’m pretty sure you’re allowed to do whatever the hell you want.”

“Well,” You stammer. “But I didn’t know if I could just… walk into his office. Without permission? I mean that's like his own space, and I don't want to assume --”

“Seriously? Did you not hear what I just said? The boss invited you into his house, gave you his private number, and gave you a shitload of hickies. I’m pretty sure you’re allowed into his fucking office.”

You blush as you belatedly attempt to hide the spot on your neck. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” She reaches into her back pocket. “While I’ve got you, take this. It’s your new security clearance.” 

The ID has Silco’s green eye logo on the top left, along with your full name, birth date, and a barcode. There is also a picture of you, the same picture that’s on your passport. 

You turn it over in your hand. “How’d you make this?”

“I have my ways and means. Just flash it in any of Silco’s establishments and you’ll get free shit.”

“Nice.” 

“Sure is. Now get in there panther, and show Silco who’s the real boss of this house.”

She reaches across you and raps twice on the door.

“What did you call me?” You ask, bewildered.

“A panther. Means older men really do it for you.”

She winks and tosses back a handful of candy before disappearing down the stairs with a rather impressive whistle. 

A flush rises up your neck as you turn the brass knob.

She's right though.

The room is dim, but you immediately zero in on Silco, tucked behind a heavy desk overladen with papers. His high backed wooden chair is similar to the one he has at The Last Drop. The sight of him is reassuring, though for some reason you’re fighting disappointment when you realize he’s just in a suit, and not sweatpants and a band tee.

I wonder if he wears Armani pajama suits to bed. Is that a thing?

“I trust you had a pleasant night’s sleep?” He asks behind his pile of paperwork.

“I slept okay.” The carpet squishes underneath your shoes as you inch forward. You keep one eye on him as you try to take in the rest of the room. “And you?”

“My rest was adequate. Please make yourself comfortable, I’ll be with you in a moment.”

“Okay.”

You do a slow circle, gazing wonderingly around the room. It looks exactly like a private study should. It has a tall, vaulted ceiling and leaded glass windows. The furniture is old and carved from heavy wood, while the cushions are well-worn, jewel toned velvet. A fire burns inside a fireplace with an ornate mantle, on top of which is a large framed picture of Silco and Jinx. It looks like it was taken recently, and it would appear to be a run of the mill professional portrait except for Jinx’s subtle smirk, and the peace sign peeking out from behind Silco’s shoulder. Silco looks to be repressing a sardonic smile.

You grin up at the picture for a solid minute before turning to take in the loaded bookshelves. They’re filled with deliciously musty books and strange, exotic knick-knacks. Wood smoke, cigar smoke, and dust are vying for preeminence as you pull out books at random. Many of them are in foreign languages, and most of them appear to be non-fiction. A single book of poetry sits in a prominent position on a marble topped sideboard, and you tug it out to read the cover.

A barely recognizable name shines in golden filigree on the cracked, golden dusted leather, but inside declares the book to be “The Poetical Works of John Keats”.

“I see you’ve found one of Jinx’s gifts.”

You peek at him over your shoulder. He’s still behind his desk, but the papers have been set down and his fingers are laced across the desktop. He’s watching you with undisguised interest.

“I didn’t realize you liked poetry,” You say.

“I don’t. I rarely find the time to enjoy works of fiction, no matter how artfully the words are arranged.”

"Ah." You open the book and flip carefully through the pages.

“You’re disappointed.”

“A little.”

“It's not that I don't enjoy art, simply not romanticism. I find flowery language to be unnecessarily trite. If you wish to tell someone you love them, you should state it plainly without beating around the bush. There should be no room for misinterpretation.”

You close the book and carefully put it back in its place before looking at him. “So what you’re saying is my confession the other night was a good thing, and definitely not as embarrassing as it felt?”

A small smile. “I can't attest to your feelings, but I certainly appreciated your honestly. Without it, I don’t believe I would have had the confidence to move forward.”

“Of all the things you could lack, Silco Spisak, I wouldn’t expect confidence to be one of them.”

“There are a lot of things about me that you wouldn’t expect.”

“Well I’m looking forward to finding them out.”

He stares at you for a moment without blinking. 

“I have something for you.” He says suddenly, and reaches into a drawer in his desk.

You move forward automatically and reach out to receive the rectangular object. It's an iphone 14, brand new.

“What’s this?” You ask dumbly.

“A work phone, as yours has become increasingly unreliable. I need assurance that I will be able to reach you whenever necessary for business purposes. You can take your phone to the Verizon store in downtown Zaun, and the man there will transfer your information over at no cost.”

“Wow. Thank you. I… that’s very generous of you.”

“It’s nothing. As I said, I need assurance that I can reach you. Especially now that...” He stops himself and sits back.

You tilt your head in question. “Especially now that what?”

“That you are more than just a business partner,” He finishes.

You engage in a short staring contest. You know that wasn’t what he was going to say, but whatever it was, he’s clearly not interested in sharing it with you.

“I have something else for you as well.”

“Two gifts in one day? And you said you’re not the romantic type.”

"I'm not. But I do believe in practicality," he pulls out a nondescript white box and rounds the desk to lead you to the marble sideboard.

He sets it down carefully and indicates you should do the honors. You pocket the phone to remove the lid, gingerly pulling back the white wrapping paper. You stare down at the contents, then up at Silco in confusion. He’s watching you with a strangely smug expression.

“A purse?”

“I asked Jinx as to the design, since she has more experience with your sense of fashion than I.”

You pull it out to examine it. It’s surprisingly heavy for such a small bag, but a good quality leather in a wide crossbody design. There are more pockets than you’ll know what to do with.

“This is… beautiful.”

And practical.

“If you would allow me.” 

You offer it to him, and he turns the bag to reveal one of the many zippers you hadn’t yet taken stock of, located on the side. He unzips it and pulls out a small black pistol.

Your eyes widen as he holds it out to you, handle first. You take it only after a few seconds hesitation.

“I would ask that you carry this with you at all times, from this day forward. You'll need to get a concealed carry permit, and be qualified, all of which will be accomplished today with Thomas."

"Thomas..."

"He's a rather skilled marksman, and works at the firing range as a firearms instructor when not driving me around to various board meetings.”

You consider this piece of news carefully as you hand the firearm back to Silco, and watch him slip it back into the purse pocket.

Sevika, a terrifying powerhouse, works as Silco’s bodyguard. Thomas, Silco’s driver, is proficient with firearms.

He naturally surrounds himself with dangerous people who know how to protect him. 

“I feel like I’ve accidentally joined the army,” You say, only half joking.

“I’m afraid there is no other option. I can't offer you 24 hour protection at this time, so you are your own best resource for safety. The sooner you are proficient, the better I will sleep at night.”

A heart flutter. “You lose sleep over me?”

“There’s no need to sound so pleased about it,” He scowls, running his fingers through his hair (and making it adorably ruffled). “Whoever invented love was a meddlesome being.”

You have to work extra hard to hold back an ecstatic smile.

He just said he was in love. With you.

Well, more or less.

“I’m not sleeping so great either," You say, "if that makes you feel any better.”

“Marginally.”

“At least we’re in this thing together.”

He lets out a soft snort. “That does bring some comfort I suppose.”

You nudge him gently. “Come on Mr. Spisak, it’s not as bad as all that. There are worse things than haunting each other night and day.”

“It’s not the haunting, so much as the distance. I would feel better if you were nearby.”

“I’m only ten minutes away,” You laugh.

He makes a non-committal grunt before waving his hand in dismissal. “I believe Jinx wanted to meet with you early, and ensure you’re wearing the proper attire.”

“And am I?” You ask brightly.

“Are you what?”

“Wearing the proper attire?”

His frown eases as you spin, then his lip twitches when you put your arms out for greater effect. “The footwear needs some improvement, but otherwise your attire is adequate.”

You laugh. “‘Adequate’ says the man who’s walking around his own house in patent leather shoes. Do you ever go barefoot?”

“Never.”

He seems to repress a shudder.

“What about with socks?” 

“Not unless I am also wearing house shoes.”

“What? Like Nike sliders or crocks?”

“I believe Sevika terms them ‘house slippers’.” 

You consider, momentarily, the picture of Silco shuffling around in sliders on his days off. You make a mental note to text Sevika to take a picture the next time such an event occurs.

“What’s that smile?”

You do your best to smother it. “Oh nothing. I’m just… so grateful for everything. For the gun and the phone. And the purse! It was a good choice.”

You slip it carefully across your shoulders, especially now that you’re aware that the ungainly weight is on account of a pistol stashed in the secret pocket. 

“It’s nothing. The safety of my family is important to me. I would be failing if I didn’t ensure yours.”

Family.

You smile. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

He grunts. “Believe me, I’ve tried. But it's an impossible task.”

“Well at least now you can call me if you need to. I’ll make sure you have a really obvious ringtone so I don't assume they're scam calls.”

“That would be desirable.”

“I also need a picture of you to pair with your number.”

“I’ll send you one of my professional headshots.”

You give him a look. “I can’t just have professional pictures of you in my phone.”

“You will, for now. At least until I can tell the board we’re a couple.”

“Oh, right, that.”

You narrow your eyes at him.

It takes less time than you thought it for him to look uncomfortable, and it’s oddly satisfying to watch him squirm under your gaze for a change. 

His hand twitches, like he’s working extra hard to keep it from jumping up to his tie. “What is it?”

“Nothing. You’ll just have to get used to being stared at, since I’m not allowed to take pictures of you.”

You can't tell if he's blushes, but you’re almost positive he does when, on a whim, you stand on tiptoes to press a kiss against his cheek.

The bag swings on your shoulder as you sashay towards the door. You turn back at the last second with your hand on the knob. “Hey, what’s the 'J' in your name stand for?”

He folds his arms across his chest, his expression still slightly nonplussed. “I’m afraid that’s top secret information.”

“Fine. I guess I’ll just bide my time and figure it out on my own.”

“I wish you best of luck on your search.”

“You don’t have to sound so skeptical. You invited me into your house willingly, so now I have access to all your secrets. You won’t be able to keep me out of your business even if you tried.”

“Who says I want to keep you out?”

“No one, but…” You feel heat creep into your own cheeks. “Well, I just want to make sure you realize what you’re in for. That I’m not a – a short term, fling relationship kind of girl.”

A small smile curves the corners of his lips as he answers, equally frank, “And I am not a man who enters into relationships lightly. My pace might be a sight… slower, perhaps, than you’re accustomed to.”

You worry the strap of the purse. “That's okay, my mom won't be mad about it.”

"And you will?"

"I guess that depends on how slow we're talking."

“Slow enough to keep my neck out of the noose.”

You grin and tug open the door. “You're a smart man Mr. Spisak.”

"So I've been told."

“See you later?"

"I’ll likely be gone when you return. Tomorrow I'll be in meetings on campus all day, then on Tuesday I plan on being at The Last Drop. There are several more courses I’d like you to complete, so if you would be so kind as to meet me there after your shift, we can discuss what your week will look like.”

“Yeah, okay. Sounds good. I’ll see you Tuesday. Try not to haunt me too much before then, please?”

“I am unable to make such a promise.”

"Fine, haunt me then. See if I care. Just don't complain when I haunt you back."

"I would never."

“Good. Then I guess we know where we stand.”

He inclines his head with a small smile. "I guess we do."

Chapter Text

Sunday, October 17 (pt. 2) 

A grin attaches itself to your face like a parasite on your way up the stairs to Jinx’s room. If you told yourself October 1st that in two and half weeks you’d be free to come into your bosses house and flirt with him any time you wanted, you’d have thought you were crazy. 

Yet here you are. 

And this is only the beginning.

It's a truly thrilling thought, and you're possessed with with a strange sense of boldness as you stride into Jinx’s room unannounced. You have to call her name more than once to get her attention, and she spins around in her desk chair to ogle you with eyes covered in strange looking goggles.

“Finally!" She says, swiping her long black leather coat (and what appears to be metal shavings) off her legs. "What took you so long?"

You note that today she appears to be dressed for the matrix.

"I took a short detour."

"I was beginning to think – wait, detour?” She raises the goggles to her forehead, then points accusingly when she catches sight of the purse over your shoulder. “Where’d you get that?”

“Your dad. He told me yesterday he had something for me,” You wiggle the purse. “Thanks for this, by the way.”

“Oh. Yeah. Sure toots, sure….” She slumps back into the chair and bites her lip.

You watch her for several seconds, bemused. 

“Something wrong?”

“No!” Her voice is a little manic, but she sounds completely normal again when she continues. “Everything’s hunky dory! Except for that fit. Oof.”

She puts up her fingers like a frame and runs it up and down your body. “Your choice of couture could definitely use some work. Especially those shoes.” 

“Funny, your dad said the same thing.”

“Yeah well he’s really into making statements, and those shoes say, ‘I’m literally one step away from orthopedics’.”

“They’re comfortable though.”

“Yeah, and ugly.” She narrows her eyes in concentration. “I’m thinking…. Docs. Jadons, the white ones. Yeah, that’s the vibe.”

“Well, unless you’ve got an extra pair of those lying around that happen to be my size, the orthopedics are the shoes for me.”

“Ugh, fine. But you and me are gonna have to go shopping soon. I could totally be your personal stylist, free of charge.”

“Sounds nice," You say cautiously. "but designer clothes aren’t really in my price range.”

“It’s not the brand that matters, it’s the statement you’re trying to make, and right now you’re saying, ‘help me Jinx, I’m stuck in fashion purgatory!’”

“Wow. Well now I’m offended.”

She grins at your wry expression. “Hey, I’m just saying that you’ve got plenty of room for growth! And I know just where to take you first. There’s this amazing second hand shop on the edge of Piltover, which it’s where I get all my good stuff. Anyway, you have to level up your game if you want to keep up with Silco. He’s like, super into aesthetics. In case you ever wondered, he’s where I got my flair for the dramatic.”

She flips one braid over her shoulder. 

Your lip twitches. “I’d never have guessed.”

“I know, we’re both super subtle.”

“Well, I get paid on Friday, and I open, so anytime after work is good for me.”

“Perfect! We can buy you a super gorgeous dress while we’re there, and make sure you’re sexy for Saturday.”

“What’s so special about Saturday?”

“Oh nothing really, just Silco’s birthday.”

You freeze as you fight shock, surprise, and panic (in that order and all at once).

“I’m sorry, what?”

“October 24th, 44 years ago, is the first day Silco Spisak emerged from his mother’s womb, a complete mystery to himself and the world. I’m so excited you’re finally dating and stuff, because that means I have an excuse to plan a party for him. I mean, it’ll just be you, me, Sevika, and probably Thomas, but that’ll be totally cool and chill.”

“Yeah, totally.”

You’ve been dating Silco for less than 24 hours, and now you have to think about getting him a birthday present (which is, coincidentally, the first present you’re ever going to give him). This one is really going to matter, but what on earth would a business tycoon possibly want that he doesn’t already have? And could you even afford to buy him what he wants? Should you play it safe and ask Sevika and Jinx what he’d like for a gift, or go out on a limb and buy him something you think he’ll like?

“Well now that I’ve blown your brain it’s probably time to go downstairs. Sevika will have our necks if we make her late for the gun show.”

She suddenly strikes off into the hall without you, and you have to jog to catch up.

“Wasn’t there something you wanted to talk to me about?” You pant.

“Hm? Oh, yeah, that.” She shrugs, attempting nonchalance but failing. “I did, but it’s too late now. I had a diabolical plan that involved you sweet talking dad for me, but that’s a bust so I guess we’ll just have to ask for forgiveness instead of permission.”

Okay, that sounds bad. 

“Are you trying to get me in trouble with Silco?” You ask, only half joking.

“Naw, Silco could never be mad at you. Well, not permanently mad at you. You’re basically a reverse uno card.”

“What does that even mean?”

“You’ll see Toots, you’ll see.”

You feel like you’re missing some crucial and important pieces of information. Unfortunately, before you can begin to figure out how to coax it out of her, you’re distracted by Silco’s office door.

Your feet hesitate almost without permission, and you take another few surreptitious looks around for the hidden camera. The portrait across the way is a good candidate, considering it’s a very cheeky painting of Jinx, her eye twinkling.

You give the portrait a little wave – just in case Silco happens to be looking – before hurrying after Jinx.

“Finally,” Sevika grunts, heaving her boots off the kitchen table as you walk in. “Let’s roll.”

“Milk first!” Jinx sings.

She skips towards the fridge. After removing a chocolate milk (and chugging it in five seconds flat, to your great alarm), she tosses the carton into the sink with a flourish.

“Alright, let’s blow this popsicle stand!”

The car ride has way more conversation than you expect, especially considering Sevika's at the wheel. You’d thought she’d be done with Jinx’s chatter within the first five minutes, but instead of telling the girl to shut up, she adds to Jinx’s chaotic, utterly random and confusing tips about gun etiquette with helpful input of her own.

“Don’t think you won’t hit yourself in the face with the gun at least once today, because I promise you will, and that it hurts like a motha.”

“Okay cool, good to know.”

“I broke my nose the first time I used a shotgun,” Sevika adds fondly. “But Tom won’t let you touch one of those until you can prove you’re not a menace to society, like this one.”

She jerks her head towards Jinx, who’s humming and drumming her leg in time with a song only she can hear. 

“I, for one, actually think Toots is a menace. Or a witch. Or a hypnotist.”

Sevika scoffs.

“No, think about it! She can influence the all powerful Eye of Zaun, and the Eye of Zaun is the one who controls our society. She's like, the woman behind the man behind the curtain.” 

The girl wiggles her fingers at you until you bat them away with a laugh.

“Not even.”

“Okay maybe not completely, but what Sevika can’t convince him to do, I can, and what I can’t get him to do, you definitely can! Between the three of us, we’ve got Silco Spisak covered 300%.”

Sevika snorts. “That’s not real math, snowflake.”

“It is if you account for inflation, boomer. We’re living in a silent depression, so you have to make room for these things.”

“I'm not a boomer zoomer, and we’re not in a depression.” 

“Well yeah, Zaun isn’t, but the rest of the world is, and they don’t have dad to keep business booming. They’re in a deep depression. ”

“I'm gonna make a deep depression in your face if I have to continue this conversation.”

“Fine, let’s get back to the question at hand, then. Is Toots a witch or not?”

Sevika hums. “She’s got the boss’ number down better than most, I’ll give her that.”

“In my defense," You say, feeling it necessary to cut in. "he gave me his business card without my asking.”

She smirks at you through the rear view mirror. “So you say. I’d be suspicious if I hadn’t already run a background check on you this month.”

“And?”

“And nothing, you’re a fucking square, just like I always suspected. I’m usually disgusted by the goody-two-shoes type, but you’re alright.”

“You’re just saying that because I made your life easier when I took over The Last Drip.”

“Hell yeah! Since I’ve been rid of that place, I’ve been living the high life.”

“Come on, the coffee shop isn’t all that bad.”

“Speak for yourself. I don’t have the temperament for good vibes and shit."

"That's definitely true."

"If there’s one thing I hate more than demanding customers," Sevika continues, ignoring Jinx's snicker. "it’s snowflake college students. Always messing with the schedule, asking for mental health days, claiming we’re out of this or that when they would have found the fucking cups if they’d just fucking checked!”

Her hands tighten visibly on the steering wheel.

You have to work hard to stifle a laugh. “Yeah, I think we’re all happier where we are now.”

“And you want to know the best part? Since you and the boss are officially in business, he’ll be too busy breathing down your neck or kissing it to micromanage my day-to-day business decisions.”

The blush is involuntary, when you think about Silco and breathing and necks. Thankfully, you’ve already reached your destination and Jinx is too busy chattering about the health benefits of hickies for much else to be said on the subject.

The range is in what appears to be a run of the mill, cement commercial building. Thomas is waiting outside the front door, with his back turned to the parking lot. Next to him is a police officer, hands perched on his hips. The two appear to be in a furious conversation with someone you can’t see.

Jinx practically bounces out of the car, and her conversation errs on manic as you make your way towards Thomas. Sevika isn’t rolling her eyes at the girl so much as narrowing them, and immediately swivels her head to look around. Your look between the both of them, suddenly uneasy, though you’re not sure why.

Then Sevika comes to a full stop and swears, loudly. You follow her angry scowl towards Thomas and the officer, whose head turned as soon as he heard your group approach.

“Marcus?”

He looks just as surprised to see you.

“What are you doing here?” He demands.

“I’m spending the day with these guys,” You indicate everyone. “What are you doing here?”

“This is the range where my squad comes to get re-certified. But today I’m here to fix a problem.”

“The problem being…?”

“My son,” Thomas says. “He was not invited to be here. In fact, he’s been banned from the premises.”

It’s then that you see the third figure, the one that had drawn such unladylike words from Sevika.

“Oh. Hello, Ekko.”

He gives you a weak salute, his mouth curled up in a sardonic smile. 

Anger has transformed his father's usually calm demeanor in something vaguely terrifying. 

Oh dear.

You sneak a look at Jinx, who’s completely beside herself.

“Someone’s got to tell him,” Sevika bites.

Who? Silco? Why?

You try your hardest to read the group, but there are too many emotions to keep track of.

“But he didn’t do anything wrong!” Jinx says defensively.

“Actually," Marcus frowns. "he tried to sneak into a secured facility when he’s been previously banned from the premises.”

“I wasn’t sneaking, I walked in through the front door.”

Sevika and Thomas both scowl at the boy.

Marcus folds his arms. “It’s a punishable offense.”

“That’s bullshit!” Ekko explodes. “Silco doesn’t have the right to keep me out of this place. Zaun’s still a part of a free republic, in case he forgot that.”

“You can keep your mouth shut,” Thomas snaps. “You’ve caused enough problems today.”

“Silco banned you?” You ask Ekko. “Why?”

“Because he’s got all balls and no brain,” Sevika snarls. “Just like all the other arrogant little shits who underestimate the consequences of threatening the most powerful man in town.”

“I never threatened to shoot anybody!” Ekko replies, restrained but for the fire burning in his eyes. “I wasn’t talking about an actual fight when I wrote that letter, I was talking about legal action.”

Marcus eyes the boy sternly. “Funny how you say that now, but the letter was phrased a little more strongly to be misinterpreted.”

“Come on man, you know I didn’t mean –”

“You know the rules Ekko,” Thomas cuts him off. “and the consequences. I cannot and will not shield you from those.”

“But dad…!”

“No! You’ve always talked about wanting to be treated seriously, and now you are. I thought I taught you better than to use your words like loose cannons boy.”

Ekko has the good graces to appear ashamed of himself, though the mutinous look still smolders in his eyes.

Jinx is wringing her hands, looking at no one else but you.

“You can do something about this, can’t you?”

“Me?” You ask with an incredulous laugh. “Sorry, but I don’t think I’m going to have any sway on this one. It sounds like your dad has already made up his mind.”

“But you’re a reverse uno card.”

You look at Sevika for support.

“That’s actually not a bad idea,” Sevika replies.

You scoff. “You know Silco won’t thank me for sticking my nose into this situation. I don’t know anything about it.”

“You don’t have to plead anybody’s case. All we need is someone to tell him what’s going on so he stays in the loop. All of us are too close to the situation to keep a cool head about it.”

She holds your gaze until you glance at Marcus. He refuses to meet your eyes (no surprise there), and Thomas is too busy looking at his son with bitter disappointment. But even without their input, Jinx’s sudden expression of hopeful expectation lends a heavy sense of responsibility to your involvement.

Frustration filters in.

Why does the solution to every problem involve me calling Silco?

Although maybe the Spisak women do have a point. Every time you’ve been involved, Silco comes around to a different point of view.

Are you a reverse uno card?

You don’t bother to mask a heavy sigh. “Fine, but somebody owes me lunch or something after this.”

“Done.” Sevika says, without hesitation.

You take out your phone, and relief spreads around the circle in a visible wave. Thomas gives you a quick, grateful nod, which is almost enough to lift the edge of annoyance as you step away for some privacy. 

Jinx catches you after a few steps, grabbing your hand and whispering fervently, “Thank you!”

“So this is your idea of asking for forgiveness instead of permission.”

She looks suitably distraught. “There was no other way! You know how dad is, and all Ekko wanted to do was spend more time with me. We thought that since his dad was here he’d be okay.”

It’s hard to resent someone when they can look at you with such large, pleading eyes.

“Ekko isn’t a bad guy, you have to believe me.”

“I do believe you,” You reply at last. “But Thomas is right. He’s paying the consequences for his actions, whether he meant anything dangerous by them or not.”

“Please. You can do anything, I know you can! Just work your magic on dad and I’ll do absolutely anything! If you would just convince him to let Ekko have a break. He knows he didn’t do anything wrong, he’s just being stubborn to make a point.”

“You know I can’t make any promises, but I’ll do my best.”

“That’s more than enough!” She plants a quick kiss on your knuckles before releasing them and hurrying away. 

You wait until you’re back at the car before pulling up Silco’s number. You stare at the blurry photo of his college pamphlet portrait for a few moments, wondering.

Is this a preview of what life with Silco is going to be like? Jinx causing problems and you calling home to clean up the mess? 

This is what the people at church must have meant when they said adoption was something you should embark on with much prayer and meditation. The older the child, the deeper the trauma. The more trauma, the more work you’ll have to put in to love and care for the child.

And the more stress it puts on the couple trying to raise the child.

Well Jinx is no child, but she certainly has enough trauma to fill 10 industrial sized dumpsters.

You look back to watch Jinx pace across the parking lot, fingers caressing her braids, distress written across her pinched, childlike face.

So much pain for someone so young.

She catches you watching, and sends you a nervous, heartbreaking smile. 

And that’s when you realize that you don't have a choice. You consciously chose Jinx before you even chose Silco, and she chose you. You knew going in that they were both difficult, and that one didn't come without the other.

I knew what I was getting into. I chose to be here, and I can't back out just because it's become mildly inconvenient.

You straighten your spine and hit dial.

Time to be that reverse uno card.

Chapter Text

Sunday, October 17 (pt. 3) 

It takes you several seconds to realize that the phone isn't ringing.

You hit cancel, then redial. Again, you hear nothing, and it’s about that time you realize your phone has no service.

Figures.

You pull out the new one, but you already know it’s no good; It’s not activated, and there’s no sim card.

You heave a sigh of annoyance, but in truth it's probably better to have a moment to collect yourself. Not only do you have no idea what you're going to say to Silco, but you have no idea what’s going on, or how serious the situation really is, or how Jinx expects you to fix it. 

You need some time to assess the situation.

But speaking of Jinx, you can sense her anxious eyes following your every move, and you put the phone back to your ear, pretending to make another call as you gaze around the parking lot. 

What are you going to do? 

The girl expects you to be the magic fix-it in this situation, but Silco's no fool. You need to know what happened with Ekko so you can be properly armed with the knowledge to bargain with Silco on Jinx's behalf. All you know so far is that Ekko is banned from the shooting range. Why? That's the question you need answered, and you're not sure who's best qualified to do it. Thomas and Sevika both have personal skin in the game, and Marcus…

Marcus!

For the first time since you met your sister’s boyfriend, you feel a leap of excitement at the idea that he is nearby and available. If there’s anybody here who can tell you what really happened, no filter, it’s him.

You hurry back towards the group with a sense of purpose, and gesture towards the Sheriff, “I need to talk to you for a second."

He looks confused, even when you point at him to indicate that yes, I mean you. When he eventually determines that you actually are referring to him, he pinches his lips together, nods tightly, and follows your summons. You dodge an incoming vehicle, and come to a stop behind Sevika's 4 Runner.

“I need you to tell me what happened.” You say, without preamble.

“What do you mean, what happened?”

You forgot that talking with Marcus is like talking to a toddler. Recalcitrant for no apparent reason, though not necessarily on purpose. A lethal and frustrating combination.

You swallow back an impatient retort. “Why was Ekko banned from the shooting range? What happened between him and Silco?”

“Didn’t Silco tell you?”

“I didn’t ask. Besides, I feel like you’re the only one who can give me an unbiased perspective of the situation.”

A frown is locked firmly in place, something you've come to recognize as his signature expression. Allie told you once that it doesn’t always mean he’s annoyed, it’s just the way his face is. You’d informed her that her boyfriend looks like he hates people, which prompted her to retaliate, and remind you that Silco always wears an expression that says he thinks the world is inhabited by idiots.

She’s not too far off the mark, actually, though neither are you. It’s an odd sort of coincidence that you both chose to date men plagued with resting bitch face, and a general distaste for humanity.

“What do you want to know?” He asks at last.

“Everything. Just start from the beginning.”

His frown deepens into a scowl, which you have to consciously choose not to take personally. It’s probably just his thinking face. 

He takes several seconds to collect himself before launching into a slow, almost reluctant explanation.

“There was a protest on campus about a month and a half ago. Ekko wanted Silco to take action against the perpetrator who was placing unsanctioned fliers across campus.”

“Unsanctioned fliers?”

“They were unmarked save for a number, and an offer of money to anyone willing to volunteer for an experiment. Nobody knows who put them up, and whenever one was torn down, three more would appear in its place. There was a lot of talk around campus regarding the fliers, and Ekko checked to see if any of his classmates had called the number, and asked the rest of The Firelights to do the same.”

“Firelights?”

“It’s Ekko’s club. They like to protest against anything and everything the board tries to pass that they think infringes upon student rights. They’ve been a real pain in my ass.”

“Why yours? I thought you worked in Piltover.”

His face twitches, and his voice takes on a hint of annoyance. “I do, but whatever happens in Zaun leaks into Piltover, so I’m often brought in to handle these kinds of situations before they get out of hand.”

That doesn’t make much sense to you. Why would Silco bring in a Piltover Sheriff to handle a problem with Zaun, especially since he seems so determined to keep the two cities separated?

“So what did he find out?” You prompt, as you file this intriguing question into the growing list of questions you want to ask Silco.

“Turns out several of his classmates called the number. All of them claimed they were texted an application, filled it out, sent it in, but never heard back. Ekko believed one of them was lying, claiming that the boy had been 'acting pretty sus'."

You suppress a grin as Marcus inserts air quotes, along with a look of intense distaste.

"So he confronted the boy, and although he initially denied everything, he eventually admitted that he had been selected for the experiment, though he refused to say anything more.”

“I’m sure his reluctance made Ekko more determined.”

Marcus snorts. “The kid fancies himself a private investigator. Or a conspiracy theorist, more like.”

“Well, what did he find out?”

“That all across campus there were other students behaving strangely, and though they all denied being chosen for the experiment, Ekko and his Firelights seem convinced that each one of them is hiding something. Especially after the incident."

At your blank stare he continues, "I'm sure you heard about it. It was all over campus. The boy Ekko interrogated went berserk in class, started spouting gibberish and hallucinating.”

Now that you think about it, you remember coworkers and students coming in about a month ago mentioning the incident. You hadn’t been sure how many of the stories to believe at the time, since they got more dramatic and far-fetched after each retelling.

“Was anybody hurt?”

“No, but somehow Ekko got his hand's on the the boy's medical examination report, and discovered that he had been taking experimental drugs. The event led Ekko to petition Silco to investigate. He got a reply saying investigations were under way, but he was apparently unimpressed by Silco's efforts. Soon after he sent in his first letter, several other students who claimed they hadn't been accepted began showing signs of similar side effects. That's when Ekko started sending letters every other day, until the day he incited the riot.”

“The protest, you mean.”

“Protest, riot, it’s all the same.”

“It's really not.”

“Look, when someone brings guns to what’s supposed to be a peaceful protest, you can’t blame Silco and the board for following protocol. The protesters made it pretty clear that they weren’t interested in friendly negotiations.”

“Someone brought guns?”

“Why else would Silco ban The Firelights from the guns shops and shooting ranges? Not that it would stop self-proclaimed revolutionaries from finding firearms through more underhanded means, but at least they’ll have to work harder to get their hands on them next time around.”

Your mind is reeling. “So Ekko told Silco he wanted a peaceful protest, then brought guns? It doesn't make any sense.”

“Oh he didn’t bring any of the firearms, but Ekko claimed in his last letter that he would go to drastic measure to ensure his requests were not ignored.”

“Hold on, wait. So Ekko didn’t bring the guns?”

“No.”

“Was it one of The Firelights?”

“Well no, but they were the ones who organized the protest, which means that they’re responsible for the conduct of every student who presents themselves.”

It feels so unjust, and yet you can’t blame Silco for taking action to protect the student body. Though it seems unfair that he’s punishing Ekko for someone else’s actions.

“Did Silco really ignore Ekko's requests before the protest?”

“Absolutely not," Marcus looks affronted at the very idea, and you feel relieved. "He was doing everything he could to discover who put up the fliers, but the security cameras never caught anything on tape. They somehow knew all the blind spots."

“What about the security guards? Didn’t anyone see who was putting up the posters?”

“Apparently not. But that's why he brought me in. I’ve got more resources, and I've been doing everything I can to track down the perpetrators. I even increased security on campus, which The Firelights have taken it upon themselves to protest," He scoffs and shakes his head. "We've finally managed to remove all the fliers, but whoever put them up must have changed tactics, because we're still getting reports of ongoing activity.”

It seemed impossible that anyone could pull a fast one on Silco for any length of time without being found out. Unless it was someone who knew Silco well, and knew how to circumvent security…

Someone like Charles Rodriguez?

The idea strikes like lightning.

The pieces all fit. Every interaction you've had with the man has been suspicious, from finding him in Silco's office, to the way he would suddenly appear and try to get information out of you regarding Silco and his plans. He'd even managed to turn off The Last Drip’s security cameras, without anyone realizing what he'd done until almost ten minutes had passed.

It's all starting to make sense.

It's Charles. I don't know what he's doing, but he's doing it, and getting away with it too. How is he getting away with it?

“What?”

You shake your head, pushing down your rising excitement and agitation as you pat Marcus rather forcefully on his arm. “Nothing, I just thought of something I need to ask Silco. Thanks for your help Marcus. Oh, wait! Could I borrow your phone real quick before you go?”

“No, it’s against regulations.”

“Oh okay, cool. Never mind then.”

He tips his hat and stalks off, leaving you alone with your swirling thoughts.

The real question now is why Charles would dare to create experimental drugs, and where he's doing it. You'd need a lot of money to source and experiment with pharmaceuticals. Surely something like that would require a big operation, with lots of moving parts. So why risk it? Does he need money to maintain his expensive tastes, or does he have delusions of becoming some kind of drug kingpin?

There has to be more to it than that.

I need to talk to Silco!

You pull out your phone, and after much wandering around you find service again. Several missed calls are registered from Silco, which makes it that much easier to make the call. You're so pumped full of adrenaline that you don't even care that he snaps at you when he answers on the first ring.

“I’m beginning to change my mind about assigning you personal security. Perhaps I should make you wear a tracking collar instead.”

“I’m just a girl with an old phone, Silco, not a dog who keeps wandering into the bad part of town.”

“I'll have to take your word for it, as I am rarely able to get a hold of you when the need arises.”

“Relax Mr. Spisak, I’m going to get my phone changed out tomorrow, and then you’ll have access to me whenever you please.”

“Theoretically. The collar would require less wasted time calling.”

You roll your eyes. “I'll pass. But if it makes you feel better, I'd consider a tracking anklet.”

“An interesting concession,” He drawls. “Though I believe I would be considered negligent if it appears that the manager of my coffee shop is a convict on parole.”

“Better Jean Valjean than Princess Leia in her slave era.”

“Hmm, I beg to differ.”

You blush, not sure if you're more shocked that he understood your pop culture reference, or at the idea that he'd like to see you in a Leia slave costume. Suddenly you're imagining yourself in the slave Leia costume, then imagining him imagining you in the slave Leia costume, and now you're blushing deeper and regretting having mentioned the slave Leia costume at all.

Come on, focus! You’ve got conspiracies to share and mysteries to crack!

You close your eyes, face blazing as you gather up your scattered dignity and reason, “Okay, so I actually do have a reason why I tried to call you, outside of arguing about tracking collars and french convicts.”

“Which would be?”

“I have a question for you. Well, several questions actually.”

“When do you not?” The ire in his voice is gone, and in it's place is something akin to amusement.

“Good point, but I wouldn't call you all the time if I had any other option.”

“I’m not sure if that is supposed to be reassuring or not.”

That pulls out a laugh. “I just mean that you’re usually the only person who can answer my questions. No matter where I go, all roads seem to lead back to Silco Spisak. If I didn't know any better, I'd say there's a conspiracy afoot.”

“I like to maintain an aura of mystery.”

His voice has taken on the familiar, smooth consistency of silk, and it's embarrassing how it turns your spine to jelly. 

“Yeah, I can tell,” You say, mouth strangely dry. “But seriously, I do have questions. Really important ones, about Ekko and Charles.”

“I cannot think of two individuals I wish to discuss with you less, but if you insist…”

“I’m afraid I must.”

He sighs. “Then you’d better get to it.”

You cross your fingers and say a prayer before diving in. “I was just wondering if there was any way you could allow Ekko not to be arrested for showing up at the firing range today. Jinx invited him, and given her powers of persuasion I think it’s only fair that he be forgiven, just this once. For his dad’s sake if nothing else. Thomas is willing to let him get carted off, but he’s been so loyal to you over the years…”

You let the request linger, breathless as the silence stretches on the line.

“I suppose my daughter put you up to this.”

“Well yes, but I asked Marcus about what happened last month, and it sounds like it wasn’t Ekko who approved the guns at the protest."

"It doesn't matter whether he approved of them or not. He is responsible for the actions of any person who took part in his protest."

"I understand, and I’m not asking you to let the boy shoot with us. Just… give him a pass. For Thomas, and Jinx. I know they'd both really appreciate it. Especially your daughter. She's having a pretty hard time right now.”

Another worrisome silence follows, and then a sigh.

“I suppose I can let him off with a warning.”

You breathe out a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank you!”

“Just this once, mind you,” He says, voice clipped. “I will not be so forgiving next time.”

You find yourself nodding, adamantly. “That’s more than fair."

"I suppose your next question would be regarding whether or not Jinx is allowed to forego the shooting in favor of a tête-à-tête with the boy..."

"Oh! No, actually my next question is about who put up the posters at ZCC. Or maybe it’s not so much a question as a theory. Or maybe it’s not even that. I was thinking about who could circumvent your security parameters on campus, and figured that it would have to be someone who knows how you operate. It got me thinking about the day your security went down at The Last Drop."

"Ah. I see."

You can already hear the skepticism in his voice, and hurry to get out the rest of your theory. "What if Charles was the one who put up the fliers? Or maybe not Charles, but someone who works with him. You know, the same person who interrupted your security footage the first time. It just feels like more than a coincidence, don't you think?”

“I fail to see a connection, though I can’t rule out the possibility.”

“You can't rule out that it’s a coincidence, or that it’s a good theory?”

“Either.”

It’s tough not being able to see his face because his voice isn’t giving anything away, but you've got a sinking feeling that he’s not taking you very seriously.

“Well it’s worth checking out at least, right?”

“Perhaps, though I doubt Charles has the requisite skill sets or the proper resources to orchestrate such a scheme." 

"Yeah, I thought so too. But at the same time, there's so many abandoned building out on the border of Piltover and Zaun, and he could be using one of them to run the operation. I'm sure you've probably already checked out that kind of thing because you own almost all the land in the city, but maybe he isn't doing any of the work nearby, but is paying someone outside the city to do it. I know it's a little out there as far as theories go, but I can't help feeling Charles is a part of this somehow."

Doubts creep in along with the silence.

It sounds ridiculous and far-fetched now that you've said it out loud.

“Marcus is currently following a promising line of investigation," Silco says at last. "but perhaps when he's finished I'll direct him towards a more thorough examination of my internal affairs. Although I cannot believe Charles is capable of such intricate deception, it is possible that something or someone was overlooked during the initial audit of my staff.”

Well it's not complete buy in, but considering Silco hasn't shown himself to be interested in your Charles theories in the past, it's something. And since you don't have any proof, just a gut feeling, you can't really expect him to do anything more.

"Okay, well thanks for humoring me."

"Is that all?" 

The laugh in his voice is unmistakable, and you feel foolish for thinking your Charles theory would be received with any kind of consideration.

"Uh... Yep. That's all I wanted to say. We already covered Ekko, Charles, Jean Valjean, and Princess Leia. There really isn't anyone left in life or fiction that we could possibly want to talk about."

His laugh is low and guttural. "You certainly know how to cultivate stimulating conversation. I never know where our discussions will end up once they've begun."

You smile wanly. "I'm always happy to entertain."

"You are rather entertaining, though I confess that I much prefer being entertained by you in person."

A stomach flutter, then a zing.

"I'm beginning to fear that our relationship is going to be primarily comprised of stolen conversations over the phone rather than in person."

"I hope not. But --" You stop suddenly, when you see the tail of Jinx's hair flash around the corner of the van you'd been hiding behind for the last fifteen minutes.

You're suddenly remember that everyone's still waiting for you to bring back Silco's judgement while you're stand here, chatting with Silco about your silly conspiracy theories.

"Is everything all right?" He asks sharply.

"Yeah, fine. I'm sorry, Silco, but I have to go. I think I've kept everyone waiting long enough."

"Everyone meaning my daughter, I suppose."

The girl's head begins to peep even more obviously around the corner of the adjacent vehicle.

"Yeah. Did you need anything from me? I saw you called several times."

"The reason has become irrelevant."

"Oh, okay. Well try not to miss me too much before Tuesday, okay?"

"I won't need to, as I'm sure you'll find some excuse to call."

"Good point," You sigh. "But what can I say? I'm a sucker for men with an aura of mystery."

"Fortunate for me."

And me.

Your stomach flutters. "Good-bye, Silco."

When you hang up, Jinx immediately gives up her pretense of hiding and hops over.

"Well? What did he say?"

You put on a smile. "He said he'd let Ekko off with a warning, but he isn't allowed in the shooting range."

The girl practically melts in relief. "You did it again. You cast your spell and saved the day."

"He didn't actually need much convincing."

"You don't give yourself enough credit, Toots."

"Or maybe you don't give your father enough credit."

She looks skeptical. You take her arm and start your trek back towards the building. "Come on, let's go tell the others. I think I'm ready to start shooting things."

Her grin is ecstatic. "Hell yeah!"

Chapter Text

Sunday October 17, pt. 4 (the last chapter for Sunday, I swear!)

“I have good news,” You say as you approach the group. “Ekko, you will not be going to jail today, but you also can’t join us to shoot. I’m sorry.”

Thomas’ shoulders slump in relief. Ekko looks startled, then stares at you as if he’s never properly looked at you before. It’s almost as unnerving as being pinned underneath Silco’s gaze. You no longer wonder how he got all those college kids to confess they’d called the mysterious number.

“He’s letting me go, just like that.”

Thomas gives his son a hard look. “I think what you mean to say is 'thank you'.” 

“I am grateful,” The boy replies, and you know he means it. “But I’m just trying to understand.”

You answer slowly. “Obviously if you try this again he isn’t going to let you off the hook, but today you’re free to go.”

You can tell Ekko’s burning with questions, but just as he opens his mouth Thomas catches his eye and jerks his head towards the boy’s motorcycle. After one last covert look at you, he follows his father.

“Can we meet up after, at The Fissures?” Jinx calls after him anxiously.

He salutes at her over his shoulder, and it’s enough for the girl. Her buoyancy is back in a flash, and she grins as she rounds on the rest of us. “I’m going to go make sure nobody’s got my favorite lane!”

She practically skips towards the front door, and Marcus mutters to himself about decorum and kids these days before flicking his hat further onto his forehead and stalking after her. 

“The boss backed down.”

Sevika’s voice has a quality to it that is different from the smug superiority she usually uses. Her arms are crossed as she frowns hard at the ground.

“He didn’t seem too interested in sending Ekko to jail, actually,” You reply. “I didn’t have to say a lot to convince him.”

It was almost too easy, when you think about it. You’d been ready for a fight, and you hadn’t even had to go for the big guns to barter for Ekko’s freedom. You aren’t sure if you should be suspicious or not, especially considering the strange look in Sevika’s eye.

What are you up to, Silco?

“The boss always has his reasons,” Sevika says as if reading your mind, then the frown clears and she jerks her head. “Come on, let’s get you checked in.”

You walk side by side up the curb. 

“You ready to learn from the master?”

You nod, the nerves that you’d forgotten about suddenly reemerging.

She slaps your shoulder with her organic hand. “Don’t stress about it. Thomas is the best of the best. I prefer my fists in a real fight, but when it comes to gunplay he’s taught me more tricks than anyone else alive. I probably owe him my life. If it weren’t for him, I’d have died pulling some stupid stunt years ago.”

You follow her inside, strangely reassured.

You hand over your personal effects and ID, and at Sevika’s instruction your personal firearm is removed and checked in. You’re subjected to a metal detector and pat down before being handed a pair of noise canceling headphones and safety glasses, and get whisked into a glass walled room. 

“Wait here for Thomas.” Sevika nods at you on her way out, “Do everything he says, and you’ll be just fine.”

You wander over to the window as soon as the door clicks shut, and stare past the glass to get a better view of the interior of the range. 

The room reminds you of a bowling alley, except that the floors are bare cement, and there are targets at the end of each lane instead of bowling pins. There are about twenty lanes in all, and separating each lane is a free standing, floor to ceiling partition which would prevent you from seeing (and probably going deaf from) the person shooting next you. Most of the lanes are being used at the moment, and you can see a myriad of figures standing with legs hip width apart, both hands extended over a waist high table. As you watch, several of the figures recoil as they fire, which barely registers as a distant pop behind the glass.

Your scan eventually reveals Jinx, who has situated herself into the farthest left stall. Her gun looks fairly antique, even with your extremely limited experience with firearms. It’s like something out of a western, and it suits her, somehow. As she buffs the copper barrel with a cloth, her head bounces and bobs around, like she’s listening to music. 

You wonder what kind of music plays in her head, if it’s real or made up. 

As you ponder this, you begin to wonder if she picked up her love of music on her own, or from her father. He certainly doesn’t seem to mind that she blasts her music in her room at all hours of the day. It could be fatherly indulgence, or it could be that he likes it.

This percolates in your mind for several seconds. You recall seeing an old record player in Silco’s office at The Last Drop, but no records. Was it just a prop for decoration? His office at home didn’t have a record player or records either. Maybe he hadn’t gotten around to buying any?

This causes a sudden, tentative bubble of hope to blossom in your chest. You could buy Silco a small collection of records. All you have to find out is what kind of music he likes, and the people to ask are right outside the window.

You begin to create a list of possible bands that Silco might be interested in, which takes up so much of your attention that you hardly notice the ten minutes that pass before Thomas enters the room.

His smile strained. “Sorry about the wait. I needed to have a quick conversation with my son about his manners.”

“It’s no problem Thomas, really. I was doing some light research while I waited.”

You can see the strain around his eyes as he rubs his face. “The boy’s got a stubborn streak, and no sense of self-preservation. You’d think being my son he’d at least have learned that. Of course, he could have gotten it from his mama. She’s always been a bit of a rebel.”

He smiles fondly at some secret memory before shaking his head. “He’s just so dead set on seeing this thing through, and nothing I say can change his mind. I’m afraid he’s messing with some very powerful people.”

“I understand your worry, but Silco is a reasonable man. He would never hurt your son.”

“I know he wouldn’t,” He answers bleakly, “But Silco’s an anomaly among the powerful men in this country. He’s careful, and knows how to weigh the consequences of his actions. But if there’s somebody out there giving experimental drugs to kids, then you can bet your ass they’ll have no problems hurting mine to hide their sins.”

“So you believe Ekko’s theories?”

“I do. But the boy fancies himself a savior, and I’m worried that one day he’s going to find himself in deeper shit than he can handle, and I won’t be able to help. I couldn’t even help him today. If you hadn’t been here to talk to the boss, Marcus would have carted him away without a doubt.”

You stare out into the shooting range and watch Marcus for a few moments. Maybe there was a way to badger him for updates on the search, if only for Thomas’ sake.

It would be worth a shot, anyway.

After another second or two of silence Thomas heaves a sigh, and the dark clouds disappear from across his brow. “How about we get started on what we came here to do in the first place?”

You match his smile. “Yeah, sounds good.”

You have several tasks to complete today: getting gun safety training, taking the gun safety test, getting checked out with your Hellcat, and then actually handling the gun in the range.

The first three tasks are accomplished in shockingly short order. Thomas is an excellent instructor. He’s calm, well-spoken, and infinitely patient with your fumbling hands and thousands of nervous questions. Strangely enough, the hardest part of the initial training is being comfortable holding the gun. It feels like a dangerous creature with a mind of its own, capable of jumping out of your hands at a moment’s notice.

Thomas spends half his instruction reassuring you that the weapon is only as dangerous as you are.

“If you respect the weapon, then the weapon will respect you.”

This only further cements your belief that the gun is, in fact, its own animal. 

Two hours after you enter the glass room, you exit it with headgear and safety glasses. Just stepping inside the range is intimidating, and each shot that’s fired echoes around the chamber makes your heart leap. 

You’re positioned in the stall between Jinx and Sevika, the former of which is singing a strange song to herself.

“She’s such a loser, always ready to cry! Ta-ta-ta-taa!”

She fires four shots, one for each “ta”. 

“Do not spin that gun.” Thomas says blandly, as he sets your hellcat down on the table of your stall.

You catch a glimpse of Jinx mid-spin (and mid eye-roll).

“Yessir.”

You’re pretty sure saluting with the gun like that isn’t safe either, but she does it anyway. Thomas sees it, but stays silent (though you can tell he's biting his tongue). Safety is probably a constant war with Jinx, and he has to pick his battles.

The first lesson he teaches you is the proper stance: how to distribute your weight on your feet, and how to hold the weapon. He demonstrates, then has you copy him, talking you through how it should feel. At last the moment comes when he fills his magazine, and has you stand behind him as he talks about breath work. 

“Keep your core tight, your arms and legs strong, and your breath steady. Breathe in and out slowly three times, focusing on your intended target. On the third breath out, I want you to pull the trigger. It doesn’t matter where it hits the target right now, I just want you to get used to how it feels in your body. Understand?”

You nod vigorously.

He demonstrates, then pulls the trigger.

It’s a perfect bullseye.

Jinx claps enthusiastically. Sevika smirks, and continues loading her magazine. 

Thomas stands back and indicates you should take his place, as if it isn’t even that hard.

Maybe you can bs your way into being super good at this, You think desperately as you prepare yourself to fire your first shot.

You focus on your breathing, just like Thomas said to do, and keep your eye on the target. As you push out the third breath, you pull the trigger. Your arms buzz from the sudden jolt, and you stagger. 

Your heart pounds with excitement as you scan the target. There, just on the right edge of the second ring, is the hole from your round.

You look back at Thomas with a grin.

“Very good,” He nods. “Now do that again.”

The buzz has made its way down your arms and into your entire body. Exhilaration overwhelms you, and you can’t exactly remember what happens next. One moment you’re setting up your feet, and the next you’re firing at the target.

It’s clear within seconds that you’ve missed completely.

You feel phenomenally confused.

“Now why do you think you missed?” Thomas asks in a tone that tells you he already knows the answer.

You feel lightheaded and practically breathless. “I don’t know, it happened so fast...”

“That’s the adrenaline right there. It runs through your system and makes time move fast, so you have to learn how to work through it, and maintain your calm. Let’s give it another try. This time, I want you to repeat all the steps out loud, slowly.”

You’re hyper aware of every part of your body, what it’s doing, and how it’s feeling. It's weird to talk out loud and focus on all of the rules all at once, but the next shot you take hits the target, and so does the third and fourth. The last one misses the bullseye by an inch.

“When you're first learning a skill, you must form the proper habits,” Thomas continues with an encouraging nod as he changes out the target. “Forming good habits takes time, but eventually it'll feel like second nature. From there you can work on technique, consistency, and speed.”

As if on cue, Sevika and Jinx fire off several shots in quick succession, all of them hitting close to the bullseye.

You begin round two feeling a bit daunted, but Thomas seems genuinely pleased by your performance, so you use his praise as motivation. You start to feel more comfortable with the gun in your hand at the beginning of round three, which is when Thomas excuses himself to take a call.

Jinx pops her head around the partition as you’re reloading.

“You wanna see something cool?”

Judging by the look in her eye it’s not only cool, but also very unsafe. Still you’re lured to her stall by morbid curiosity. 

“I trained myself to shoot like this when I was nine.” She says with a wink before standing in what appears to be a pitcher’s stance, body perpendicular to the target with her arms and legs akimbo. Her head is cocked theatrically to the side with one eye screwed shut, the gun resting down at her side, her finger twitching.

“Is there a good reason why you’re breaking all the rules just to show off?” Sevika asks.

“Who needs reasons?” Jinx sticks out her tongue, then in a sudden move cocks the gun and swings it around in a wide (dangerous) arc towards the target, firing in rapid succession.

Her success rate is rather spotty, but none of them miss the target. And you can admit that it looks really cool.

“That’s cute,” Sevika says, reaching under her collar. “But how about you step aside and let a real pro show you how it’s done.”

She unlatches the buckle connecting her prosthetic arm to her shoulder, and lets it fall heavily to the cement. She’s clearly enjoying herself as she pulls a loaded magazine out of her pocket with exaggerated flair, locking it into the gun by slapping it against her thigh. She jerks her head to tell Jinx to move out of the way, then situates herself in the center of the stall. She’s not wearing proper eyewear or headgear, and you realize for the first time that maybe the reason Jinx and Sevika fight like cats and dogs is because they are fundamentally the same person.

They both like to do things their way, and each show their own unique, blatant disregard for rules.

Sevika aligns herself with the target in the same way Jinx does, though it’s clear that she’s honed her skill through experience rather than play. Her movements are so relaxed they almost appear lazy, and the entire magazine is drained in ten seconds flat. Every shot appears to have landed within an inch of the bullseye.

“You always knew how to make a statement, Vik.”

You turn at the sound of Thomas’ dry tone, but he doesn’t look annoyed. More mildly amused. 

Sevika smirks while Jinx huffs.

“How come when Vicki shows off she’s ‘making a statement’, but when I do it it’s ‘dangerous’ and ‘irresponsible’?”

“Because Sevika has years of practical experience, while you don’t. Now I don’t want to see you breaking the rules again, or I will be forced to revoke your privileges. Both of you.”

Jinx mutters something incoherent while Sevika just grins as she swipes her arm off the floor. “You need something?”

“Just a quick word outside, if you please.”

A look passes between them that you don’t understand, and you have no time to ask before they leave. Jinx has already moved on, reloading her weapon with a string of warbling whistles.

You feel like this is the perfect opportunity to ask her about Silco’s birthday present.

“Does your dad like music?”

“Like music? He loves it! He’s got this entire record collection moldering in his room right now.”

The hopeful bubble deflates.

“He’d totally listen to them if he had a working record player, but he hasn’t bought one yet because he claims he wants to listen to it on the old gramophone at The Last Drop. It’s broken.”

The bubble reinflates to an even bigger size. You could have the gramophone fixed for him. That could be part of the gift, anyway.

“Is there any record he’s been looking for that he can’t find?”

She appears to be thinking hard, then gives up with a shrug.

“Do you think it would be okay if I looked at his record collection when we get back to your house? I want to buy him one, but I don’t really know what he’d like.”

A look of understanding crosses her face, quickly followed by one of mischief. “You’re trying to figure out a birthday present, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. I just have no idea what he’d like, and I don’t have a lot of money…”

“Honestly toots, you don’t have to buy him anything. He’ll be happy if you just show up to his party looking like a snack. He might even be immensely pleased if you accidentally stay late and are too tired to drive home so you ask to stay night, which of course he'll allow, and he'll offer you the guest bedroom just down the hall from his office, and when you inevitably can't sleep and decide to go to the kitchen to get a glass of water you accidentally meet in the dark because it turns out he can't sleep either, and the reason is because of you...”

She peters out with a dreamy smile.

"Watched Notting Hill recently?" You ask, repressing smile.

"So what if I have?" She asks defensively. "It's not such a completely unrealistic fantasy. If you haven't noticed, Silco's a total workaholic. My dad refuses to go to bed before 3 am, so it's totally reasonable to assume that he'd see you on the security cams, and decide to slip downstairs to share a midnight kiss."

You roll our eyes, trying to pretend like your stomach isn't fluttering, and that her fantasy sounds ridiculous instead of an absolute dream.

"Okay so you don't have to have a passionate encounter in the midnight hours. You could just stay to listen to music and maintain a respectful two feet apart on the couch while you discuss all the boring stuff adults like to talk about when they think the kids are all asleep. Like income taxes, the state of the union, the birds and the bees. You know, that sort of thing."

"What a romantic thought," You answer drily. "Thank you, I'll take your advice into consideration."

"Oh my god, you even sound like him," She gags before setting herself up to shoot another round. "It's disgusting how perfect you are for each other."

You smile madly to yourself.

"Just try not to think too hard about it Toots. He doesn't care about gifts and stuff, he just wants you. Take it from the girl who knows him better than anyone else in the world."

It takes a few seconds to absorb this before you find the will to walk back to your stall. You set yourself up for the next round, but you keep forgetting what Thomas told you to do because your mind keeps wandering to that one scene in Notting Hill. Your accuracy is abysmal, but you couldn't care less.

Silco just wants you.

Chapter Text

Monday, October 18

Monday morning dawns gloomy, with raindrops falling gently through the mist. Simply rising from the bed takes Herculean effort (on account of the unholy amount of soreness in your arms) and your choice of fashion reflects the struggle. Autumnal slouchcore thankfully matches the vibes, but you also can’t cha-cha slide your way into clothing any tighter than a potato sack. 

Things don’t get better when you arrive at the shop. Performing basic tasks — such as grabbing stock from moderately tall shelves, reaching forward to prep the drip coffee, and basically any other reaching and grabbing activities that are necessary for doing your job — is straight up difficult.

It’s pathetic, really.

And yet the show must go on. As soon as the shop opens your smile is in place, and you manage to greet the morning crowd with some semblance of cheerfulness. At least you’re working with Connor and Monique, who can hold down the shop — you know, should you suddenly collapse and be unable to rise from the floor.

The morning passes slowly, allowing you several opportunities to chat with the regulars about Halloween plans, this year's adorable pumpkin patch, and how cute the shop decorations are. 

The quiet lasts till around 8:30, when a crowd shuffles in en-masse, damp and in a hurry. By 10:30 you’ve managed to run through your stock of milks, cups, and energy. You’re just about ready to drop into a chair for your break when Sevika walks in, dressed in workout gear and a profusion of sweat. Both Connor and Monique magically become model employees working at peak efficiency as you approach the register.

“You good?” You ask, inputting in her quad shot macchiato with almond milk.

“I’m fucking fantastic.” 

Her smile is feral, and it takes you several beats to realize that she isn’t being sarcastic. She does look incredibly pumped, both literally and metaphorically.

“Nice.”

“Hell yeah. Toss me one of those mango chutney burritos will you?”

“You don’t want it warmed up?”

“Can’t wait. I’m starving.”

You shrug and pull one out of the fresh-and-ready fridge. She’s already backing away, but her right hand is out and waiting for you to throw the burrito. After a brief hesitation you toss it. The aim’s a little off (you know, on account of the pain), but she catches it easily before dropping onto the nearby couch next to a terrified looking freshman. The poor kid looks like he’s going to have a panic attack when she starts tearing at the foil with her teeth.

“What’s wrong with you, kid? You look like you’re about to call life alert.”

It takes you several seconds to realize she's talking to you.

You chuckle ruefully. “Yeah, I feel like I need life alert. My arms are so sore.”

She spits out a piece of foil. “From what?”

Her look is full of warning. You'd known you wouldn't be able to talk being at the firing range with Sevika and Jinx, so you'd already come up with an alternate explanation.

You sense your coworkers pretending like they aren’t listening in on your conversation.

"Oh, I went shooting yesterday at an indoor range. But nobody told me I'd be so sore that I would have a hard time brushing my teeth in the morning.”

"You'll get used to it after a few sessions. You and me should go sometime. I can give you a few useful pointers.”

You almost miss her subtle wink, which she covers by taking a huge bite out of her burrito.

"Yeah. That would be great, actually. Thanks."

"I'm going Thursday."

"I work close Thursday."

"Perfect, I wanted to make it an evening session anyway. I'll text you."

"Okay, sure."

There's one problem solved. Sevika has, in front of witnesses, confirmed the two of you are on friendly terms.

It's a bit of a relief to know you don't have to hide this piece of your life from friends and coworkers.

You head to the espresso machine to make Sevika’s drink, and moan as you’re forced to hunch over to collect a fresh bag of beans from the lower shelves beneath the machine.

Connor snickers as he shuffles cartons of oat milk into the fridge.

“It’s not funny,” You chuckle, then groan as you straighten up and your side cramps. “Ugh, why?”

Monique heaves an armful of cup sleeves onto the counter, cellophane crinkling. “I can’t believe you actually went to a shooting range. I mean of all the various forms of entertainment you can find in this town, you chose to go shoot a gun?”

“I think it’s great,” Connor says enthusiastically, “My dad bought my sister her first pistol when she was thirteen, and you can bet your ass no boy has been brave enough to cross her.”

“Well that’s probably because your sister looks like she could break a man in half with her bare hands.” Monique points out.

“You ain’t wrong,” Connor concedes. “So boss, who was your second?” 

“My what?”

He looks at you funny. “Your partner. You can’t go to a shootin’ range unless you have someone with you.”

Monique makes a face. “Why?” 

“Because they don’t want anyone coming in and shooting themselves,” Sevika says around a mouthful of chutney.

Monique looks horrified. “Oh my god.”

You think back to all the forms you’d filled out at the range, and how many of them asked about your psychological and mental health. It didn’t connect at the time.

“I had no idea.”

“Yeah.” Connor remains serious for a moment before he regains the mischievous glint in his eye. “So you go with a boyfriend or what?”

“I was with my sister’s boyfriend,” You reply, thinking quickly. “He’s a Sheriff at Piltover PD.”

Monique perks up. “The cute one with the Australian accent?” 

You make a face as you turn the knob to steam the almond milk, but the noise isn’t enough to cover the snort that emanates from Sevika’s general direction. You have to agree with her on this one. “Cute” is not exactly an adjective you’d apply to Marcus, but obviously your sister disagrees.

And Monique, clearly. 

You dab the foam onto the espresso and round the counter towards the sofa. “Yeah, I guess.”

Connor whistles. “Damn boss, you really need to stop borrowing your sister’s boyfriend and get one of your own.”

Silco appears in the forefront of your mind, and you lock eyes with Sevika as you pass her the cup.

She smirks.

You straighten up as fast as you can and head back behind the counter, trying to replace your expression with one that you hope is enigmatic, rather than awkward, excited, and guilty.

“Maybe she just doesn’t know where to look,” Monique grins as she starts stickering cups. “You should have been at The Last Drop with us last night, we could have hooked you up in no time. The place was flooded with Piltover preppies and their pet international students. There was one especially fine British specimen over by the bar.”

“Long legs, and rather chesty?” Connor asks delicately. “Yeah no, I’m pretty sure the boss don’t swing that way, do ya boss?”

“Nope.” You say, suddenly extremely interested in wiping down the bar area, so as not to accidentally catch Sevika’s eyes again. It might be your imagination, but she’s giving off extremely smug vibes.

Monique only sighs. “It doesn’t matter anyway, she was with some pink haired chick who glared at everyone who tried to approach.”

“Plenty of other fish in the sea,” Connor’s expression becomes conspiratorial. “Like the barman.”

You perk up. “Cal?”

“We told him we worked here, and he said to tell you hello.”

“Aw!” A warmth floods through you as you clasp your hands to your chest.

“He was pretty good lookin'," Connor muses.

"More like hot!" Monique exclaims. "But like, the way men in Peaky Blinders are hot."

“I see you boss. You like the posh, dangerous types.”

More than you realize.

You grin. "I am partial to suits and a good fade. And a little bit of underground rock.”

“Well, Cal said he might come and visit soon.”

“I hope he does,” You say honestly. “I miss that guy.”

Connor and Monique exchange significant glances, and you decide to let them think whatever they want. Cal would be a good decoy for when you start visiting The Last Drop more often. 

Sevika sets the shot glass down on the counter with a thud. “I’m outta here. Need anything? More tomatoes? Oat milk? A wheelchair?”

Monique snickers, then catches herself.

You roll your eyes. “Ha ha. No, we’re good, thanks.”

“Good, I don’t have time to help you out anyways. I’ll see you Thursday.”

Sevika exits, and Connor and Monique start onto the topic of Cillian Murphy and Tom Hardy, their romantic partners, then their favorite celebrity couples. You greet the next customer who walks in, content with the thought that tomorrow, when you get off work, you’ll get to see your posh, dangerous boyfriend.

Monday Afternoon

On a whim you stop at The Lanes to pick up a few random art supplies before heading to the Verizon store. The place is empty when you arrive, which is great, because you have no idea how long it’s going to take to transfer all the data to your new phone. A girl walks up to greet you, but when you mention that Silco sent you, she directs you to a guy chilling against one of the freestanding kiosks, named Kyle.

Kyle is a thick and rather unassuming man in his mid thirties with dark skin and the eyes of someone who is tired of life most of the time.

“Yeah, Silco told me you’d be coming,” He says dully, taking both phones out of your hands. “Just transferring all the data?”

“Yep.”

Kyle hits the power button on the new phone, then the old. He blinks slowly and appears to be holding back a sigh. “It’s on low power mode.”

“Oh! Yeah, sorry about that,” You rustle around in your purse until you find the charger and hold it out to him. “The battery life has been terrible lately. I can’t get it to stay charged for longer than a couple of hours.”

“It looks like an old model. They’re known to do that.” He runs a finger over one of the myriads of scratches and dings around the corners before plugging it in. “You want a case for your new phone?”

“Yeah. As you can see, I’m not exactly careful with my stuff.”

He nods over at the wall, “The cases are right there, if you want to take a look. I’m going to the back real quick to grab a new sim card.”

“Thanks.”

You wander to the wall. They have extremely limited choices — two, to be exact – So you choose the cuter of the two. You also grab one of the magnetic card holders, to replace your phone case wallet before heading back to the kiosk. 

Kyle wanders back in several minutes later, sim card in hand. “Okay. Uh, well, pull up a chair, this'll take some time.”

You sit on one of the tall stools across from him and wait.

Kyle has you input the password to unlock the screen, and after several seconds he grunts. “It looks like your battery peak efficiency is around 76%.”

“It feels more like 50%, to be honest.”

“Huh.” 

And that’s the last thing he says before he continues with the work. For several minutes he goes back and forth between phones, and there are several instances when you have to insert passwords, and he passes the phone over wordlessly. Ten minutes into the visit the transfer starts, and Kyle gets on his phone.

You zone out, content with the quiet after a long morning of cheerful, if not banal, conversation.

“Sorry,” He sniffs after several minutes. “I’m going on my lunch soon, so I’m ordering food from next door.”

“All good. What are you getting?”

“The Ultimate Cajun Pasta.”

“That sounds good.”

He nods, you nod, and you both descend back into your separate worlds. Eventually you prop both arms on the counter and slump forward. He gets off his phone and leans onto his forearms, staring at nothing.

All in all, you like Kyle. He’s a rare salesman who understands the value of understatement.

The transfer finishes fifteen minutes later, and he hands over the new phone. “Everything should be good, but I’d check to see if the apps are all there and in the same place.”

Everything’s in order, as far as you can tell, and you let him know. You pay for the phone case and card case, and pocket the new phone.

He holds up your old one. “Silco said this was a trade in, so I’m going to keep this.”

“Sure. Thanks Kyle, I appreciate it.”

He sends you a lazy wave, and as you turn to leave you spy him slipping the old phone into his back pocket.

You wonder about it as you slip on the new phone case, then text Silco.

“Everything’s transferred onto the new phone! So now you know for a fact that if I don’t answer your calls, I’m purposefully ignoring you.”

You send it with a winky emoji and don’t anticipate a speedy response, but it arrives by the time you get home.

“I’m glad to hear it”

You smile fondly as you change into your cozy at home clothes (also slouchcore, but without any sense of style), pondering how Silco’s texting style is slightly akin to a suburban dad. Like yours, for example.

At least he doesn't sign off his messages with LOL (as in "lots of love", as your dad once informed you), though you wouldn't exactly be opposed.

You cue Netflix and head to the kitchen to prepare a late lunch.

“Don’t worry, I would never purposefully avoid you unless I’m doing something specifically I know you won’t like.”

“Then it’s a good thing I asked Kyle to give me your passwords, so I can track your phone”

You stare at the words as the microwave heats up a single serving of Chicken Paneer, and Jorts bumps against your legs, informing you that it is also time for her own lunch to be prepared.

It’s supposed to be a joke, You think as you crack open a can of cat food.

He is a horrible texter, and doesn’t understand the nuance.

You hope so anyway, but the text comes across as slightly worrying --- Probably because you know he’d actually do it.

You think back to whether or not Kyle was watching you when you put in your passwords, and you can’t for the life of you remember.

He did put your old phone in his pocket.

Did he clear the old data? You can't remember if he wiped it or not, but you're pretty sure he was supposed to. 

“Kyle’s a dirty traitor," You respond, only half joking.

“Remember I own everyone in this town”

Again, a slightly alarming response, and the delayed winky face he sends only adds another level of worry.

"Haha, believe me, I know!"

You set out the cat food, upon which Jorts descends like a ravenous wolf. You put your food on the coffee table and carefully remove a sketchbook and set of graphite pencils from the bulging bag of art supplies harvested from The Lanes. After settling onto the floor and curling up in a cozy blanket with your back propped against the couch, you scroll to your favorite comfort show and hit play. When Jorts is finished with her lunch she jumps onto the couch and lays down next to your head, purring loudly.

As soon as you're done eating, you open your camera roll and scroll to one of the few good pictures you've managed to find of Silco over the last few weeks. You stare at his picture and examine him with your rusty artist's eye.

When Connor said you had a type for posh dangerous men, you’d thought it was a good joke. But examining Silco now, you realize just how accurate that might actually be. A mysterious business man with his circle of well trained hired hands. He knows everyone, sees everything, owns most of the town.

You try not to think about it too much as you dive into sketch work, getting used to having a pencil in your hand again. It's easier than you thought it'd be, and pretty soon you fall into a zone, hardly even recognizing when your sister gets home. Crocs appears and hassles Jorts before settling into a ball of fur on the opposite end of the couch.

You try a quick portrait of Silco and are dissatisfied with the results. You try again, this one better, but your hands are cramping now. You sketch until all you can see are the sharp, razor-like angles of Silco's cheeks and jawline, and the depth and texture of his scars.

Day changes to night. You don't realize just how dark the room has gotten (or how close your face has gotten to the paper) until the lights turn on, and you recoil from the light. 

"Nguh." You croak, rubbing your eyes.

"Man, I haven't seen you do art in ages," Allie says, plopping down onto the couch behind you. She points at a sketch. "That one's good, you really captured his essence."

"His eyes are crooked."

She tilts her head. "His head's at a 3/4 angle, and that's always weird to work with."

Crocs wiggles her way beneath Allie's ipad and onto her lap so that your sister has to work around her.

Allie scratches her head. "Are you going to paint his portrait?"

"I want to try," You sigh. "but his birthday's Saturday, so I don't think I can get it done on time. I figured I could at least attempt it though."

"They're good attempts, sis. You'll get there."

"Thanks."

You take a short break to chat about your day, swapping stories about difficult customers, telling her that Monique thinks her boyfriend is cute and laughing at Connor's accidental wisdom before settling back into a happy, comfortable rhythm with your respective art work. At 11:15 you leave Allie on the couch working on a new page of flash tattoos, and fall into bed satisfied that you're well on your way to creating a passable portrait of your posh, dangerous boyfriend.

Chapter Text

Tuesday, October 19

Your shift on Tuesday dashes by faster than you can blink — culminating in the reality that you barely have time to think about your upcoming time with Silco. Between rushes you’re consumed by all the tasks that need to be accomplished before shift’s end, like keeping the lobby clean, putting in the vendor orders on time, and sending your team off for their breaks. 

You’re unable to fit in the extra managerial tasks Sevika asked you to cover during your shift, but at least they’re things you can accomplish outside of the shop. They’ll be easy to check off your to-do list once you’re in the peace and quiet of The Last Drop, because (let’s face it) as much as you’d love to pretend that you and Silco will be too distracted by each other’s presence to get anything done, you’re a realist at heart. 

You’ll probably only have a few minutes of conversation dedicated to something other than business.

You hustle to take the trash out, wash the leftover dishes, and refill the stock cupboards before the next lead arrives for you to update, but by some miracle you manage to clock out on time. You only take the time to top off your water bottle (and shift coffee) before snagging your bag and hustling out the door. 

The porcupine haired boy lets you into The Last Drop, and before heading to the stairs you search the bar hopefully for a familiar face. Your heart lifts when you see the flash of a bald head peek above the counter.

“Cal!”

The head pops up at the sound of the name, and Cal’s face breaks into a broad, gap-toothed grin. 

“Well look who it is!”

He rounds the counter and you step into his arms for a hug. 

“It’s good to see you, love. I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about me.”

“I could never,” You sigh before pulling back. “Connor and Monique told me they saw you yesterday, and I was like hey! I miss that guy.”

“That’s too kind. But I can’t believe you came all this way just to see me. Perhaps you’re in the market for my world famous advice? Or is your phone in need of another charge?” 

You laugh. “I finally got another one, actually.”

“Good for you! It must be a relief.”

“Yeah, I haven’t had to charge it yet, but it feels wrong not to have it connected to a cord all the time. Is it weird that I kind of miss it? The phone, not the perpetual charging. It was like an old friend. I had it for almost six years.”

“I know the feelin’. My old flippy was with me for almost eight before I was forced into the 21st century. I’ve still got it in a drawer in my apartment somewhere.”

“I wish I could have kept mine, but it was a trade in.”

“How much did you get for it?”

“Uh, I don’t remember,” You lie with a jolt of panic. “But probably not very much. I guess it’ll show up on my phone bill. I needed a new phone whether I got a good price on the trade-in or not.”

“True enough,” He folds his arms and leans back against the counter. “It seemed to be a bit more trouble than it was worth.”

“You are absolutely correct.”

“So, if it isn’t my advice or a charge, what brings you to this establishment on such a fine day?”

“I just got off work, but Silco said he needed to discuss some things with me about The Last Drip.”

He clicks his tongue sadly. “I’m sorry love. It’s nothing but business for the boss, and we’re the cogs in his grand machine.”

“I don’t mind, actually.”

He raises his eyebrows. “You good with the grind, are ya?”

“Oh, I totally live to grind. Plus he’s paying me overtime, so, you know. I’m actually the one stickin’ it to the man.”

You raise a fist, and as he laughs.

You feel a brief stab of guilt.

You didn’t realize how difficult it would be to keep your and Silco’s relationship secret. Conjuring up lies and half truths is complicated work, especially when you have to tell them to your friends. 

You lower your hand to fidget with the strap of your bag, the weight of the hidden handgun suddenly obvious. “I also have a few things I have to finish from my new daily task list, so it works out that I had to come. I was going to drop my stuff off upstairs before going on a food run. You want anything?”

“Well now, that depends on where you’re headed.”

“I was thinking that Indian fusion place around the corner.”

He snaps. “The one with the masala fries?”

“Yes! I’m absolutely obsessed.”

“You can sign me up for some of those any day.”

“For sure. Actually, I should probably just order online and save myself a lot of trouble,” You pull out your phone. “Do you think it’s possible to bribe my way into the hearts and minds of the Last Drop crew? You know, just so we’re super chill and cool with each other now, and maybe forever.”

Cal lowers his voice in a conspiratorial manner. “You didn’t hear it from me, but I have it on good authority that samosas will buy your way directly into Talia’s ice hardened heart.”

“They will, as a matter of fact.”

Talia appears as if summoned out of the back room by the very word “ samosa ”. Her dark, slick hair has been cut into a bob since you last saw her, making her already aristocratic features look more haughty.

“So long as it comes with a side of that yogurt sauce.”

You nod vigorously. “Alright, sounds good.”

“Damn,” She says, coming forward to drape an elbow on the bar next to Cal. “You weren’t jokin’ about that bribe, were ya?”

You blink at her in surprise, then at Cal.

“Nothin’s sacred at The Last Drop,” He says wisely.

“Yeah,” Talia adds. “The acoustics in here are shite when it’s crowded, but when there’s only two loud mouths havin’ a very public conversation in the middle of the room, I can hear every word you say. Even when I’m in the loo.”

“Especially when you’re in the loo.” Cal nods.

“Yeah. That place is like a funnel for secrets.”

“Duly noted,” You reply, alarmed (and slightly horrified). “I’ll be sure never to share a secret in this room ever again.”

“Yeah, good luck with that.”

You look back down at the growing list of food items with a shake of your head. “Okay. Well, um. Is Haim here? Or any of the other bouncers? I figure we might as well buy for everyone.”

Talia throws her head back and shouts, “Oi! Meatheads!”, sending you as close to astral projection as is possible for a non-magical human being.

Haim and the other bouncer appear from a backroom, along with the porcupine haired boy who let you in.

“We’re getting grub from Oshra Va’Zaun. We need your orders.”

Rather than try to organize the chaos these words create, you pass around your phone and let The Last Drop crew order for themselves. It’s fascinating to watch them interact.

Haim and the other bouncer, Paul, have some running, private joke about lamb chops. Porcupine haired boy, Heath, shoots furtive glances at Cal out of the corner of his eye and lights up whenever he gets any kind of positive attention (And because it’s Cal, it happens a lot). Talia is clearly a mother bear type, but in a cool, edgy sort of way.

As the phone makes it’s way around, they fall into private conversation (and you feel free to eavesdrop).

Haim bumps Paul’s shoulder. “Hey, did you hear Piltie Station got a new Sheriff?” 

“Yeah, I saw her last night. She’s a real looker.”

”Fifty bucks says she won’t make it a week with the preppies.”

”I’ll take that bet. I hear she’s the best, a crack shot. She was trained by Marcus’ sergeant.”

“And what about that new PI she brought with ‘er?” Talia asks casually, as she types in her order.

Haim sneers. “Oh yeah, she looks like a sewer rat, no mistake. The boss might have his hands full reining that one in.”

“Better him than us.” Paul grins.

“I’ll drink to that.” Talia says before handing you back your phone.

“Okay. Cool. I’ll just put in the order and be on my way...”

“Hang on gents,” Talia raises her hand. “We aren’t going to leave the lady to pay for our disgusting appetites all on her own, are we?”

“It’s fine, really,” You balk. “I don't mind. I mean I’m the one who offered to get you guys food in the first place.”

Talia scoffs. “I know how much these idiots eat, and you can’t afford it.”

“You don’t have to–” 

“Well we’re going to,” She says viciously, and holds out her hand. “Phone. Now.”

Cal gives you a look that says you shouldn’t bother arguing, and because she scares you a little bit, you don’t. The truth is you aren’t used to anyone offering to help pay. You’ve always fronted the bill for everyone during Last Drip meetings.

She types for a long time before handing it back. “Keep the receipt and send it in the group chat I just created.”

“Okay.”

“Heath, you’ll go for pick-up.”

“Word,” Porcupine haired boy scratches at his soul patch with heavily ringed knuckles. “What’s pickup time?”

“I’ll let you know in a second.” You say, and scramble to add Silco’s order before putting in your credit card number.

You try to imagine what on earth he would want to eat, and add your best guess with your fingers crossed. He strikes you as a picky eater, but there’s nothing you can do about that right now.

“It’ll be ready in 45 minutes,” You say, and after looking at the time make a face. “Well I should probably head upstairs now. I don’t want to keep the boss waiting.”

“Yeah, you should never keep the boss waiting,” Paul grunts. “I remember this one time last year, Celine got ripped a new one…”

As the large man launches into his story with unusual animation, you catch Cal’s eye.

“I’ll text when I get a notification that the food’s ready.”

He salutes. “Right-o.” 

By the time you make it to Silco’s office your eyes have become very well accustomed to the gloomy interior of The Last Drop. When you push open the door, you’re greeted by the sound of several tinny, complaining voices talking at once, and the warm, heady scent of cloves. Your eyes are drawn automatically towards Silco’s desk, which is bathed in a singular pool of murky green light. Silco sits in his chair, cigar hanging languidly between two fingers. 

His eyes flicker upward when the door closes, face half lit by the computer screen, and half by the warmth of a yellow bulb desk lamp. The peeved expression twitches slightly when you smile and wave, but beyond that he remains implacably stoic.

You pad softly over to the sofa and settle your things before shedding your coat. There’s the deep indentation in the left cushion that makes it difficult to sit in, so instead you make your home on the side closest to Silco. You kick off your shoes and sit with your back against the armrest, facing away from the window, so you can utilize the natural light. After popping in your headphones to drown out the voices (and your growing hunger), you settle in to work on your managerial tasks. 

In your mind, the more work you get done before Silco’s meeting ends, the more stress-free, quality (work) time you'll get to spend with him.

Every ten minutes or so you stop to stretch and drink one of your two fluids, as well as check on Silco. Each covert look confirms his attention is unwavering on the screen, though his features are composed into a perfect mask of boredom. The only thing that changes with every peek is his cigar, which grows steadily shorter.

After forty five minutes you’ve checked off every single item on your list, and consumed every ounce of water and coffee in the vicinity. You feel supercharged, and a little lightheaded on account of having so much caffeine without food. Removing your earphones confirms that Silco is still in his meeting, though how it’s going is obvious by the fact that his cigar has been replaced by a glass of something alcoholic.

You slip out as quietly as you can to use the restroom, and on your way back get a notification about the food. You text the group chat, then slip back into the office, fantasizing about your upcoming lunch of chicken tikka masala french fries.

Silence greets you as you re-enter the office, clueing you in that Silco’s meeting has concluded. The second indicator is that his head is resting back against the cushion, his good eye closed with a rare expression of complete exhaustion. 

You approach his side of the desk, skirting between a coat rack and an overflowing trash can as he sighs, “I apologize for the delay. The meeting wasn’t supposed to occur until this evening, but several of the board members’ schedules changed unexpectedly.”

“It’s alright, I had plenty to keep me occupied.”

He stands and shrugs out of his coat with one swift motion. After hooking it on the rack, he loosens his tie and runs his fingers roughly through his hair.

It should be mortifying, how much you enjoy watching him do that.

“What?”

You bite your lip. “Well, I guess I was wondering if I could… that is, would it be alright if I said hello?”

His mouth twitches. “That is customary in most societies.”

“I meant with a… a kiss.”

“Is that a trick question?” 

The way he grabs your hips and tugs you into his chest makes you blush all over.

“I guess I just thought, because of the cameras…”

“It's not a live feed, and I am the only one who can grant access to the footage.”

“Oh. Nice,” You fiddle with the loose end of his tie. “So that’s a yes to the kiss then? I mean, I just want to be absolutely clear on that point before I, you know...”

His eyes glitter, both ice and fire. “Do you talk because I make you nervous, or do you simply enjoy playing coy?”

“Oh, I don’t know. It varies from moment to moment.”

He carries the ghost of a smile, along with the heady, warm scent of his cologne, as his head tips forward. “Well then. Consider the kiss my preferred form of greeting, unless specifically indicated otherwise.”

“How magnanimous.”

“It may surprise you to learn that I am altruistic at heart.”

“When it benefits you?”

“Especially then.”

Your giggles shift into sighs as his lips meet yours with hungry intent. He threads his fingers over the back of your hand, then breaks off to gently kiss your wrist. Tingles run up and down your arm as he murmurs against your skin, “Hello, darling.”

“Hi.”

“And how are you today?”

It takes an embarrassingly long time for you to find your voice. “Good, now. And you?”

“Never better.”

His gaze is so searing that you struggle not to squirm in discomfort. You wonder when you’ll ever get used to being looked at like that.

Probably never.

You shift your focus instead to his orange eye, and gently touch its black, puckered edges. “How is it feeling today?”

“It's been better. I meant to administer the next dose an hour ago, but the meeting pushed it back.”

“Well you should probably get on that. We don’t want a repeat of the coffee shop debacle.” 

"I don’t know, everything seemed to turn out rather well, I thought.”

“You gave me a mini heart attack,” You remind him with a tap to the chest.

He captures that hand, too.

“Then I begged for your forgiveness," He murmurs with a kiss on your knuckles.

"Funny, I don't remember that part."

"Don't you? Well, perhaps you need me to refresh your memory."

You feel suddenly breathless, unable to do more than nod in reply.

He dips his head with a sly smile, his tongue flickering out briefly to tease open your lips. It sends a fever raging through your mind.

"Does that bring anything back for you?"

"I don't know I... I can't remember anything now."

You mean it sincerely, but he laughs, giving you one last long kiss before releasing you to head over to his desk. Your legs are wobbly in the wake of his absence, and you lean against the desk for support.

Silco doesn't seem to notice as he drops into his chair, and pulls open one of the lower drawers to remove the infamous case. He then spins and holds it towards you with a languid hand.

You wave him away, brain feeling a little scrambled. “Oh, no. I told you I didn’t want to do that again and I meant it.”

He gazes at you steadily, hand still outstretched. “I need your help.”

“No you don’t.”

“I’d like you to feel more comfortable with this procedure, as it is a regularly occurring event in my life.”

The logic is irrefutable (and annoying). “But I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Practice makes perfect, and you didn’t hurt me before so it stands to reason that you won’t now. Now please, time is ticking."

It’s his small wince that makes you push your reticence aside and take the case. You remove the copper pieces and rotate them in your hands, wracking your brain for how they fit together. Silco remains silent, which is even more unhelpful for your critical thinking skills.

When you’ve at last fumbled the vial into place and locked the pieces, he says, “Good,” and leans his head back. “Now you’ll need to apply even pressure around the eye, to ensure the needle goes in cleanly.”

“I hate the way you said that,” you groan, hovering as you figure out the best way to begin. “Um… maybe, if I could just….”  

You scoot forward, practically straddling his legs so you can put a stabilizing hand against his cheek. You prepare to inject, then draw back suddenly with a small gasp. “Wait, I forgot to lock the door!”

“Don’t worry about the door.”

“But Heath —”

“Will not enter unless given express permission.”

You aren’t entirely convinced, but Silco's confidence is going to have to be enough, for now. You grasp the syringe tightly and make your second approach. A few strings of peppered hair have fallen forward and you unconsciously sweep them back, running your fingers through his hair to lock them in place.

“Are you comfortable?” You ask nervously.

“Perfectly.”

“Okay, that’s good.” 

You bite your lip and with a quick breath set the apparatus in place. It’s easier to pull the trigger this time around because you don’t give yourself more than a second to think after giving him a warning.

Though it’s no less gut wrenching when he stiffens, face contorting in pain as he slumps backward with a gasp.

Your insides twist with every violent rise and fall of his chest.

“There,” He pants after several long seconds, “That wasn’t so bad now… was it?”

"Watching you suffer while I can do nothing about it?" You wipe away a faint trail of purple on his cheek with a shaking hand. “Yeah, piece of cake.”

“I promise your… presence… is solace enough for me.”

“Just solace enough?”

“There are worse ways to prepare for being stabbed in the eye than having my face caressed by a beautiful woman.” 

You laugh, weakly, and set aside the syringe. “How romantic. You should start writing poetry.”

He releases a huff. “I fear the attempt would… reflect poorly on us both. I wouldn’t wish to drive you away with tasteless comparisons of how our love is… satisfying as a perfectly balanced ledger.”

You release a snort and a giggle, and when he turns his head towards you with a tired smile it feels perfectly natural to kiss the corner of his upturned lips. He seems discontent with your aim, however, and holds you in place with a hand at your elbow until you offer him another.

You release a sound of happiness, then worry when there’s a knock on the door. 

“Heath!” You pull back with a gasp.

“There’s no need for alarm. We’re perfectly safe.”

“Safe,” You say, flustered. “It doesn’t feel very safe. I – oh!”

You'd forgotten about the trash can. Your foot has tangled with it in a bad way, and in an attempt to compensate for your wild backward motion, you twist. What happens next is a bit of a blur.

A sharp, glancing pain in your hip; A cry; Silco, on his feet in a flash; The splash and thump of objects falling to the floor as his hands suddenly find your waist. But the laws of physics being what they are, his violent grab sends you careening into his chest with equal force. Yet even as he tumbles backward, you feel one hand at your cheek, tucking your head firmly into his shoulder.

You experience another surge of panic as you tumble with him into the chair, and it slides back several feet. Silco's quick to compensate, hauling your legs off the floor with surprising strength. You squeak as you end up curled in his lap, your right arm snatching at his neck. You hold on for dear life until you're sure that the floor is no longer moving beneath you.

Then you're too stunned to do anything other than stare at your knees for several long seconds, wondering what just happened.

"Are you alright?" He asks harshly.

You stare bleakly at the mess of papers, books, and folders that have cascaded to the floor. "Yeah I... I'm so sorry about your desk. I'll clean it up --"

"I don't care about the desk," He says sharply. "I'm asking if you're hurt."

"Yeah, no I'm fine."

"Are you absolutely certain?"

You nod, heart still beating fast. "Yeah. I'll be nursing a sore hip and a bruised ego in the morning, but besides that I... I'm okay." 

He doesn't seem convinced. At least, that's what his body language is telling you. He still has you in a secure, protective hold against his chest. You can feel every deep, steady breath he releases against your rib cage, along with his racing heart.

"I'm alright Silco, honest. I'm not hurt."

You wince at the throb at your side and unfold your legs to drop them over the arm rest.

"But just to be sure, don't let go yet. I think I might... slide off your lap to join the papers on the floor."

"Stay as long as you need."

It's his calm, even breathing that regulates your nervous system. Eventually the tension bleeds from your shoulders, and your arm relaxes it's grip on his neck. You find yourself melting against his body until your head rests comfortably against his right shoulder. You're vaguely aware of your heart beats synchronizing, and though you can hardly move because of the hold he has on you, you don't feel like he's restraining so much as protecting you.

"I’ve always known ours is a magnetic attraction," He says softly, stirring the small hairs at your temple. "but this might have been going too far with the comparison."

"I don't know, I think it's nice."

You allow yourself one deep breath before lifting your head to smile at him.

The expression on his face completely disarms you. A smile plays softly on his lips, and in his eyes is such an unfettered expression of affection that you feel your insides melting. After several heart beats his smile drops, and the pupil of his orange eye widens. His blue eye softens as he looks between your eyes then down to your mouth.

Your pulse ratchets up a few notches as his left hand rises to gently caress your cheek.

“Well I should... we should probably get to work," You whisper.

Or we’ll get caught. You think. Then, but do I really care about that?

“If I fail to answer the door after the third knock, my men will try again in fifteen minutes.”

His thumb traces along your jaw like a question, and it sends an electric jolt that lights up every nerve in your body.

You flounder for a moment as your mouth goes dry. “But... I’m in here, and um... everyone in the building knows. That would be suspicious. Right?”

"That's right."

Your heart’s beating madly out of your chest as his thumb tilts your chin higher.

Your last brain cell attempts to produce even one shred of coherent thought as he draws closer.

“I mean I honestly couldn’t care less, except... well you’re the one who’s been so worried about… about the board. And being, you know… discovered...”

“Yes," He murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth that sends a shiver down your spine. "That would be... problematic."

Yet the only problem he seems interested in solving is how to drive away your last brain cell. It's not that difficult to do, as his next kiss has you going from not thinking straight, to not thinking at all. 

His lips melt against yours, and you close your eyes as he deepens the kiss. Your worries about discovery disappear beneath his heat, and the taste of scented smoke on his tongue.

He pulls away only after Heath knocks yet again, pressing his forehead against yours with a resigned sigh.

"Enough," He says, and you have to wonder who he's talking to since you'd lost the will for wisdom long ago. "We should clean up. That should give us a moment to... compose ourselves before I let him in."

As if that will be a simple task.

Yet you nod anyway, and move with robotic movements to do as he suggests.

Disappointment settles like lead in your bones when, as you swing your legs over the arm rest to stand, he doesn’t stop you. However his hands do twitch, briefly, and it's enough consolation as you set about collecting the papers from the floor. Silco joins you, and you work side by side in silence until everything is back on the desk.

Heath's final knock sends you across the room to drop heavily onto the sofa. There's no way to arrange yourself in a way that's believably nonchalant, so you pull out a book and bury your face behind it before Silco says, “Enter”.

You raise your head as Heath drops the heavily laden plastic bag on the coffee table with a flourish. “For the lady.”

“Thanks."

He folds his hands as if in prayer before opening them wide. “Bon appetit.”

He lopes out, and you busy yourself with setting out the dishes.

You try to infuse some evenness into your tone as you say, “I had no idea what you wanted, so I made my best guess. I hope you like curry.”

“I do.”

His footsteps are muffled as he joins you, though he settles rather gingerly on the opposite side of the couch.

You find it incredibly annoying that he appears completely unaffected by the last few minutes, whereas your head's still spinning, and your heart’s thundering.

It isn't fair.

He'd just about undone you, and he doesn't look fazed, not even a little bit.

You can't even look at him as you hand him a carton, then dig into your generous serving of curry fries. The impending silence, however, is almost enough to ruin your appetite. You cast around for something, anything to say that will dispel the awkward silence and bring things back to normality.

That’s when the gramophone suddenly jumps into view.

“Does that work?”

He clears his throat. “It’s missing a part, unfortunately. It’s a simple piece, but I haven’t had the time to send it out for repairs.” 

“That’s a shame. Where would you even do that in Zaun?”

“Commercia Fantastica. I know the owner well. It’s about time I gave him the call, but I’m going out of town tonight.”

“How long will you be gone?” 

“For a few days, most likely, but I will be back in town by the weekend. Jinx made me swear to it.”

“Good. You shouldn’t be working on your birthday.”

“How did you — " He stops. “Jinx, of course.”

“Yes, Jinx,” You turn sideways to curl your legs under. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me, by the way.”

“I would have informed you when it was relevant.”

“Of course. Probably around the same time it'll need to be inscribed on your tombstone."

He gives you a look, and you force a grin. 

“So what music would you play on your gramophone, if you could?”

“I prefer classical arias, and operas.”

“But you’d never pick something like AC/DC?”

“I don’t go for much classic rock.”

“But what about punk rock? Or alternative? Are you a Ramones guy? Or maybe Joy Division?”

“Impressive deductions, though perhaps those weren’t random guesses. You may have perused my record collection the day you broke into my office.”

“They were guesses, actually. And I didn’t break into your office if you recall, I was defending it.”

“Against Charles Rodriguez.”

“Yes, and I still think he was being fishy.”

He sighs, “Please, not this again.”

“But think about it,” You press. “I mean, what if he came in here trying to find information on the reports Marcus has been sending you about his investigation?”

“He knows I would never keep such things lying around.”

“Yeah well, he’s not exactly the sharpest tool in the shed.”

He snorts.

“But seriously. He seems like the type who wouldn’t mind poisoning some kids for quick cash.”

“As you have just recalled, I have Marcus looking into the matter.”

You play with your food. “I guess I’m just worried about what Ekko will do if this investigation keeps going without any results. He seems to be getting desperate.”

“All will be revealed, in time. Of that you can be sure.”

“Oh I know. You’re really stubborn when you want something.”

He hems, “Some say I'm stubborn to a fault, and yet I thought I showed an admirable capacity for restraint just now.”

You scoff. “Restraint? Please. If I hadn’t put my foot down —”

“I think you mean your ass.”

You stare at him, mouth open in a soundless “O”.

He laughs, and it’s such an unusually sincere, unfettered sound that you can’t help joining in.

“That felt like a close call though, seriously,” You say with a final giggle.

“Yes,” He smiles, revealing that glorious little gap. “Perhaps from now on, we shouldn't confuse work for pleasure.”

Zing.

You fish around in your half eaten carton. "Yeah."

He shakes his head as if to clear it, then rises to his feet. “We’d best get to work before any other distractions arise.”

“I guess I’ll keep my ass on the sofa then.”

You stuff your face with fries as his throaty laugh fills the room, bringing you immense satisfaction.

Chapter Text

Tuesday, October 19 (Pt. 2)

“What are you doing tomorrow?” You text Jinx from the far corner of Silco’s office. “Are you down for a little adventure?”

She responds almost immediately. “Duh! Do you even have to ask?”

“I want to fix Silco’s gramophone, and I know where to do it, but I thought it would be fun to go together.”

You run a slow finger over the horn of the gramophone as you shoot a surreptitious look at Silco. The sound of his phone conversation is muffled because he’s turned his office chair away to face the window, so you aren’t afraid of being watched as you examine the device.

The horn is gilded into what looks like the bell of a morning glory, a beautiful but ungainly shape. You wonder how you’re going to smuggle it out of the office without anyone noticing. The truth is that you won’t be able to do it without being immediately caught, but you do happen to know someone who can.

Sevika.

Yes, no one would bat an eye to see her heaving something heavy out of her boss’ office, even if it was a body bag.

You shoot her a quick text outlining your plan, and cross your fingers that she’ll be up for helping you out. You’ve never asked Sevika for a personal favor before, and aren’t really sure if you’re on that level of friendliness. But it’s possible that it will appeal to her sense of loyalty, since it’s for her boss.

Jinx’ next text appears, which is a GIF of some cartoon character making crying eyes. “OMG your too cute I’m literally dyingggggg”, Then, “I’ve got school till 10:00 then I’m totally free for whatever!!”

“Great. I’ll pick you up at your house around 11:00? You want to eat at home or get lunch on the go??”

“There’s this place on Black Lane with superb french fries”

“Say no more, you had me at french fries.”

She sends another GIF, from Step Brothers. “Did we just become best friends?”

“Yup!”  

As you put your phone away you catch sight of your grin in an oval mirror on the wall directly behind the gramophone. The lighting is extremely dim on this side of the room, making your reflection appear shrouded, but even through the fog you sense that there is a warm glow to your face. Whether this is the result of the streaky mirror, or the afterburn of a successful and satisfying afternoon, is unclear.

Probably both, you decide. 

Despite the almost complete derailment of your meeting plans thanks to the trash can debacle, the day has proven to be rather productive. You’d kept your ass firmly seated in the chair across the desk from where Silco was keeping his, maintaining a professional, three-foot working distance apart as you covered your agenda for the week.

He’d brought up The Last Drip’s data, marking the highest selling items, lowest selling items, and possible changes to make by the end of the month to improve sales. You’d suggested curating fun and fancy drinks for the week of Halloween, and he’d given you a green light to go. You’d also suggested having a greater social media presence, which he’d agreed was a good idea, so long as the person you chose had a respectable resume, and he liked the presented aesthetic. 

You know you’re going to have to wrack your brain for ideas about who you could slot in for that particular task, but you’ll have to ponder that another day. It’s almost 3:30, and you’re tired of thinking about business. 

You’ve only just stood up to stretch your legs after Silco confirmed that there wasn’t anything left on the agenda. It was good luck that he’d received the phone call when he did, so you could get a closer look at the gramophone without having to come up with some half-baked excuse. 

Because, theoretically, there’s nothing left to do for you to do but say good-bye.

Silco’s conversation is coming to an end if the clipped tone of his voice is any indication, so you twist around to confirm that you look presentable from every possible angle. You wince as you turn a little too far, and your hip throbs. Raising your shirt confirms that there is a massive bruise already blooming where you’d struck the desk. 

You’re still torn on whether the predominant emotion you should feel is embarrassment, or contentment with how everything turned out. After all, despite the awkwardness that led up to the event, sitting in his lap had been pretty dang nice.

Comforting.

And they way he’d curled his body around you, controlling your fall…

That is what he’d done, wasn’t it? He’d moved so quickly, despite the lingering effects of his eye injection. It was almost as if he’d known you’d trip before you did, and his actions to protect your head had been so practiced, like he’d done it a thousand times before.

For Jinx, maybe? Or during his time in the army?

It makes your heart squeeze to contemplate either of these options, and there’s a lingering flutter that he would so thoughtlessly put himself in harm’s way to protect you, even from such a little thing as falling into a chair.

“I see you’ve found my prized collection.”

You nod automatically, eyes briefly flitting upward to meet Silco's in the mirror before looking around to figure out what he’s talking about. Your hand is resting on a box of records, and you flip through them one at a time, pretending you'd been looking at them all along. You notice that the collection is mostly the same genre.

“So you lied to me, before?” You say lightly. “About your favorite kind of music?”

“I didn’t lie. You asked me if I preferred AC/DC, and I said I did not like classic rock. You assumed that because you were right about what kinds of rock I prefer, that it was my preferred genre of music.”

“Fair point,” You shift so you can see his face. “So… You like jazz?” 

He nods.

“Mm. You have anything by the Dorsey Brothers, or Artie Shaw?”

“I’m not familiar. I find John Coltrane and Miles Davis to be the best of their genre.”

His phone jingles, and he pulls it out to check it with languid disinterest. When he doesn’t immediately turn his attention back to you, you recognize the action as your cue to leave.

You put the record back, fighting not to feel too sorry for yourself as you move towards the couch. He spent an entire afternoon with you, so you don’t really have anything to complain about. But somehow it doesn’t feel like enough.

Will it ever feel like enough?  

He meanders towards the door as you collect your coat and bag, as if anticipating your departure. Because you’re a glutton for punishment, you follow at a snail’s pace, wracking your brain for ideas on how to engage him in conversation before you have to say good-bye.

“I think we should have a night where we exchange favorite albums.”

“You mean a date.”

“Well… yes.”

“I’d like that.”

It doesn’t sound like it, at this moment, so you'll have to take him at his word.

He slips his phone into his pocket as he stops at the threshold of his office, looking at you with some kind of expectation. You aren’t sure what he’s waiting for, but he isn’t holding open the door, so you figure that’s an invitation to continue the conversation.

“It can be a no pressure kind of thing,” You say brightly. “It doesn’t even have to be a whole night, if you don’t have the time for it. It could be after work, and we spend a few hours listening to good music while eating take-out. And maybe you get to pick what we have for dinner, since you hardly ate anything today.”

“I don’t like to eat fast food, and rarely eat while I work.”

You send him a reproachful look. “Well that’s a bad excuse, you work away from home all the time.”

“I’d like to change that moving forward, at least for one or two nights a week.”

“Oh good! That will be better for your health, which has the added benefit of greater productivity.”

“More potential for productivity. You forget that home means privacy, and privacy means distractions.”

“Oh dear, not pesky distractions. Don’t tell me the great Eye of Zaun is a doom-scroller?”

The blank look on his face is so wildly comical, you have to bite back a laugh.

“I’m not sure what that means, but no, I think not. It's people who are difficult to manage.”

He says ‘people’, but judging by his rather resigned expression, he’s referring to one person in particular. 

“Poor Mr. Spisak,” You grin. “Your daughter does know how to make her presence known in a big way.”

“I wasn’t referring to her, alone.”

You give him a quizzical frown, but it slowly shifts into a self-conscious blush under his pointed stare. 

“Ahhh,” You push your hair behind your ear and laugh. “Gotcha. Well maybe we shouldn’t have meetings at your house then. I wouldn’t want my ass to be any more of a distraction.”

“Perhaps that’s precisely the point,” He tilts his head as he executes a slow examination of what many have called your greatest physical assets. “My daughter is constantly reminding me that I need to take more breaks.”

“Oh,” You croak, mouth suddenly dry. “Okay then. In that case I guess I’ll be happy to distract you, any day you need. Maybe sometime next week, after you get back?”

“I’ll look at my schedule, and see when I can carve out some time.”

“Great. Do you cook?”

“I dabble.”

You highly doubt ‘dabbling’ for Silco is ‘dabbling’ for your average human being.

“Well then,” You say lightly, “maybe one night you can dabble in cooking, and we can listen to our favorite jazz albums together.”

“I look forward to it.”

“It’s really too bad we have to wait until after you get back to make it happen.”

“It’s only a few days.”

“It will feel like an eternity. But I guess you’re worth the wait.”

“You guess?”

You sigh, “Okay fine, I know you’re worth the wait. I’m just being impatient, that’s all.”

His eyebrow quirks up in amusement. “Your little display this afternoon certainly proved that.”

“Hey! That was totally an accident, and you know it.”

“So you say, but you performed your fall so elegantly I can’t help but wonder if you’ve done it before.”

You snort. “Elegant? Tell that to the pile of papers on the floor. And my throbbing hip.”

“I’m sorry for that.” 

“Me too,” You chuckle ruefully. “But I’ll be fine. And I’m flattered you think I’m that good of an actress. I don’t think I could ever do it again with the same results. Which is a bummer because… well, I mean, after the initial rush of adrenaline passed I thought it was …”

You cast about wildly for how to end your sentence without sounding childish. There was simply no easy way to put into words how holding onto him had felt so right -- how being in his arms was like finding yourself safe at home -- but before you can begin to intelligently formulate a way to finish your sentence, his eyebrow rises, forcing you to blurt out, “It was nice.”

"So you said," He says with a faint smirk.

"Well I mean it."

"I believe you. Do you have any plans for the rest of your evening?"

His voice has taken on a clipped, business-like quality. Sadness creeps in as you recognize the wall of professionalism he’s pushing between you. 

“No.”

He nods. “I’ve taken up too much of your time. Your mother won’t thank me for that.”

“It’s alright. She doesn’t need to know. And I was happy to spend time with you, even if it was just to work.”

“I wish it didn’t have to be this way.”

“I know it won’t be like this forever. And like I said, you’re worth the wait.”

He stares at your smile, then at you, for many long seconds. Emotions flash behind his eyes, ones that you can’t even fathom. His hands twitch at his sides before he slips them into his pockets with deliberate intent. 

“I’ll see you Saturday.”

You blink at him, slowly. 

So, this is how he intends to let you go, without so much as a hug, kiss, or real good-bye of any kind. Perhaps it’s just his way to end conversations like business meetings. But after all the flirtation and teasing, it feels wrong to leave like this. It would linger like a bad taste in your mouth. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks.

“Nothing.”

Nothing except I love you, and I wish we were better at good-byes.

Swallowing back your insecurities and fears, you stand on tip-toes to kiss him lightly on the cheek.

“Bye.”

His Adam’s apple bobs as his face takes on more undefinable emotions, yet he remains exactly where he is, hands shoved into his pockets, as he dips his head in response.

You hold back a sigh.

Silco is such a brutally rigid, self-restrained man.

How can he be capable of showing so much passion, yet refuse to give you any signs of sentiment or romance? What happened to the Silco who looked at you this afternoon like you meant more than the world?

You wish you knew some way to make it as hard for him to see you go as it was for you to leave him. You wish you could make yourself utterly unforgettable to this formidable man.

Was that even possible?

You smile sadly to yourself as you open the door, but it shifts into a look of surprise when you see Cal standing on the other side. He has one hand raised to knock, his face a mirror of yours. After an awkward second of his eyes darting between you and Silco, he grins.

“Hello love.” 

“Hey Cal,” You answer cautiously.

How long was he standing there? How much did he hear?

Not that there was anything much to hear. You did talk about having a date, but there were no passionate embraces or declarations of love. Could he even hear your conversation through the thick wood of the door?

“I was just coming to see if you or the boss wanted a bit of espresso.”

“You’re selling coffee here now?”

A quick look over your shoulder reveals Silco’s closed expression. “Not at all. One of my men bought an espresso machine for the break room.”

“Paul brought his in the other day,” Cal picks up the story. “None of us have very refined tastes when it comes to espresso, so it mostly tastes like motor oil. But it gets the job done.”

“Wow, a shot of motor oil. You’re really selling this thing for me.”

He winks. “Just wait til I get goin’. Back home they said I could sell a rich man his own birthday suit, and get a generous tip. The money kind, not sexual favors.”

You snort out a laugh. “Well it really just takes time to learn how to dial in espresso. It’s all about training your palate to recognize what’s a good shot verses a bad shot. It’s not that different from wine tasting, really, if you’re familiar with that.”

“Well, not to blow me own horn or anythin’, but I’m considered quite the sommelier in my family.”

He puffs out his chest, and this time you release a real laugh. “Well I’d be happy to help you guys out, if you want.”

“Are you serious?”

“Sure. Just let me know what days you have free.”

“Great! I’ll text the group chat and let the collective decide. I know more than a few of them would want to listen in and benefit from your expertise.”

“I’ll do my best not to let them down.”

“I know you won’t,” He throws an arm affectionately over your shoulder. “You’re a real catch, ducky.”

"Oh, I don't know about that."

Behind you, Silco asks in a clipped tone, “If that’s all, Calum.”

“Oh yeah, sorry boss,” Cal turns you both around to face the rather peeved looking business tycoon. “I didn’t mean to hold you back with my adulation. I just think we happen to have a very special lady here, and we’re lucky to have her. Don't you think?”

You raise your chin, trying to appear cool, calm, and collected underneath Silco's sneering appraisal.

Wait. Is that jerk actually smirking?

“I wouldn’t have chosen her for the position if I didn’t trust that she could meet my expectations.”

Silco’s compliments are truly something else.

You smile prettily. “Thank you. That means a lot, coming from you… sir.”

You tack on the ‘sir’ just to be salty, but the corner of his lip twitches upward a centimeter further.

“I expect to see an immediate implementation of the strategies we discussed, with a full report prepared, to be presented in person when I return this weekend.”

That was a rather smooth way of informing Cal that you and he would be spending dedicated time together very soon.

Sevika's right. He really is a sneaky son of bitch.

“Of course.”

You can admit that all this sneaking around, although stressful, is kind of exciting.

Still, you can’t wait till you don’t have to pretend like this anymore.

“Come on then, love, let’s not keep the boss from his endless work. May your trip produce the bountiful harvest of commerce sir.”

Silco rolls his eyes, and you grin. You have to swallow back the impulse to say good-bye again as Cal tugs you down the hall. You settle for peeking over your shoulder as you turn towards the staircase.

Silco's orange eye is glaring after you, so you subtly raise a hand in farewell.

Bye Silco, have a safe trip.

Chapter Text

Wednesday, October 20

Sevika doesn’t answer you until after 12am, according to the time stamp. You squint blearily at the text the next morning, trying not to bump Jorts, who’s sleeping quite contentedly nestled against your stomach.

“Job complete. It’s in the garage below Jinx’s studio, waiting for pick up.”

And just like that, in one night, stage one of the super secret gramophone heist is complete. 

There’s a great sense of anticlimax to it, really, considering how busy and dramatic the lives of the Spisaks are at all times. Sevika had answered you with four words on your way home from The Last Drop, “ Why the hell not?”, and when you’d asked what her plan was she hadn’t replied. 

But, clearly, she got it handled. Not that there was any doubt that she could. It had always been more a matter of if she would.

“Thank you! I really appreciate you doing this for me.”

“Sorry to break your little romantic heart, but this ain’t about you. This is pure self interest. I’m dreaming of the day I get to have an entire weekend off to myself.”

You snort. “Lol good luck with that delusion! Have you ever seen Silco take that much time off work in his entire life?”

“Trust me, I wouldn’t waste my time unless I thought there was going to be a big pay off. You should know that by now, little minx.”

It’s a weird response, and the video she sends you moments later doesn’t help clarify her answer. It’s a one minute video that starts out with a gratuitous view of Sevika in a muscle shirt, flexing with a dumbbell into a hotel gym mirror. It’s very impressive you can admit, though somewhat baffling until she shifts the camera to pick up Silco sitting on a bench behind her, facing away from the camera. His elbows are resting on his knees as he scrolls on his phone. Headphones obscure his face, but it’s clearly him in a long sleeve athletic sweater, sweat darkening the collar.

Sevika grins wolfishly, then zooms in on the phone. It takes a moment for the image to come into focus, but even with the privacy screen protector you can just make out that he’s scrolling on Jinx’s Instagram. He pauses to look at one of the photos, and you pause the grainy video to squint at the blurry selfie Jinx has taken with a woman in a car. 

Is that… you?

You’d forgotten she took that picture. You both look really happy though.

You get goosebumps as you start the video again, and watch Silco linger on the image for a rather significant amount of time. Eventually he swipes a few images to the right, and stares at this one for a few heartbeats. You watch his back rise and fall before he swipes the app off-screen to bring up Spotify. That’s when the video bobbles, and hurriedly refocuses on Sevika. 

She flexes with a wink. 

“I expect my wedding invitation to arrive on gold fucking filigreed paper BITCH!”

You put the phone down and take a moment to clasp to your flushed face. A giddy smile punctuates the buzzing in your head.

It’s silly, really. Silco is technically your boyfriend, so it shouldn’t give you such intense heart palpitations when it turns out that he likes to look at you when he doesn’t think anyone’s watching.

Still. This is Silco. He’s a mystery wrapped in secrets. A man who hides his thoughts and feelings from the world.

If it weren’t for Sevika, Jinx, or Thomas’ encouragement, would you ever have believed he had sustained interest in you? Would you even be here today?

Thank God for all the wing-men and women looking out for me.

You pick up the phone and save Sevika’s video before heading to Jinx’s Instagram. You haven’t looked at it in ages, and you scroll feverishly, swiping through her pictures until you discover the image that had fascinated Silco so much.

You find it under a photo-set Jinx had captioned “GIRLS JUST WANNA HAVE GUNS” followed by a string of goofy and violent emojis. As indicated, there are lots of guns, as well as girls, and girl’s holding guns. There are several images of herself with Sevika and Tania at shooting ranges at various times. 

Then, of course, there’s you.

The first surprise image of you is the fifth photo in the set. The clandestine ahot was obviously taken the night at the Fissures, when you’d played Time Crisis 3. 

That dress really did good things for you. Silco never said if he liked it or not.

You swipe to the right, your stomach dipping even further when you spot the second picture of you, at the shooting range. It’s only because you know yourself that you recognize the goggled and head-geared woman as you. Your face is hidden, and your silhouette swaddled in a loose sweatshirt.

But apparently Silco recognizes you.

The photo was taken during one of the first rounds of practice, Thomas standing immediately behind you. One of his hands is resting gently on your left shoulder as the other points at the target. You’re relieved that you look like you know what you’re doing. Legs apart and steady, both arms out in front of you, shoulders down, looking relatively relaxed.

Jinx hadn’t tagged you in either picture, whether on purpose or by accident you aren’t sure. Either way, you feel like you’re floating on cloud nine. Sevika has answered so many lingering questions for you. 

Silco goes to the gym, like any other normal human being. And also like a normal human being, he scrolls Instagram while between sets, looking at photos of his crush. 

You giggle wildly at the notion, waking the cat and drawing out a soundless mew. 

“Sorry,” You giggle again as you scratch her chin.

I’m just really happy.

Jorts purrs as she indulges in a big yawn and a stretch, then curls up and goes back to sleep.

You release a contented sigh and reopen Jinx’s Instagram.

For the most part, all the photo-sets pre-October are art and random selfies. Once October hit, however, Jinx became more prolific in her picture taking habits. She’s included more people, including yourself, Ekko, and Sevika. Silco is noticeably absent, except you catch sight of him once, in the background of a video Jinx made the night of her art show. 

She’s taking a video of the room behind her, herself in the foreground with a red bull raised in her hand. Behind her Silco appears, hiding amongst the grotesque ZCC board members. His hands are behind his back, twitching fitfully as he casts his haughty gaze around the room.

You release an involuntary sigh. 

He looks so dashing in that gold and scarlet coat.

You rewatch the video until it begins to creep into the realm of self-destructive behavior, then (and only then), do you cave and take a screen recording. This might be taking things a little too far, but you think you deserve more than just stock photos of your boyfriend in your phone. This video should do the trick to tide you over (until Silco lets you take a proper selfie, that is).

You know, like, side-by-side, in real life.

This thought prompts a daydream about your upcoming, mostly hypothetical date with Silco at his home, listening to music, drinking wine, and eating homemade cuisine. Maybe even dancing, if you have the courage to suggest it. This inevitably leads to a fever dream featuring Jinx's romantic, Notting Hill scenario. Staying too late to drive home, having to sleep in a guest room, but getting up to get a drink of water, which leads to a chance meeting in the night...

You continue on that pleasantly tummy-tingling train of thought until a text from an unknown number comes through, shattering your perfect, blissful world of make-believe.

“Bad news, love. Paul’s been a proper pain in everyone’s arse since you volunteered to teach us how to use his machine. If we don’t decide on a day soon, we might have to resort to drastic measures” 

It takes several seconds to pull your head out of the fog of dreams, but once you do, you recognize the number must be Cal’s.

Probably just as well, You think sadly as you let the lingering fog slip away. Silco's too self-controlled to put us in that situation, anyway. He'd probably make sure Sevika's with us to play chaperone.

“Haha, I’m sorry! Just let me know what day works best for you guys!”

“Some of the crew wants to go to the festival after close Monday, then come back to the pub for drinks. We could do it then, you think?”

“Sure! I could meet you at the club whenever you’re done :)

“Don’t be a daftie. Want to be my plus one for the patch?”

You check your schedule for Monday the 25th. You happen to be working close, but promise that you’ll meet him as soon as you’re finished. 

“Excellent! And don’t worry ducky, I promise I’ll be a perfect gentleman”

“You better be, or I’ll find someone to beat you up !!”

You send a GIF, then (rather hurriedly) “JK, JK, I’d never do that love you Calum!!” 

He replies with a crying laughing face.

“That’s a relief. I know Sevika would break me in half with her little finger if the boss thought I laid a finger on ya”

You re-read the text several times wearing an uneasy smile.

Why had he assumed Sevika would be your go-to bruiser? And why had he mentioned Silco? Was it just a coincidence?

You’ve never been one to believe in coincidences. 

“Yeah, she could probably take down Haim if you gave her enough of an incentive.”

“Like a free slice of pizza and a beer”

He punctuates this with a nervous laughing face.

“Let’s be serious. She’d probably beat him down for less”

“Like five dollars?”

“More like one dollar, and the promise of a video of the whole beat down”

“So long as we remember to catch her flexing at the end. That’s the essential part.”

He sends a laughing face, and you set aside your phone to shimmy from underneath the blankets (taking care not to disturb your bed-mate). You take your time preparing for your upcoming day with Jinx. Odds are she’s going to have more ideas of things to do than just fixing the gramophone, so you’ll have to wear your most comfy clothes.

The morning moves in a perfectly languid, carefree manner. You have plenty of time for coffee, breakfast, and about an hour of reading (not one of the many books in your half-read pile, as you probably should, but a re-read of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. It fits the spooky mood, anyway). 

It’s just about time to leave the house when Allie emerges from her room. It’s earlier than normal for her, so you send her a questioning look as she shuffles into the living room with her laptop and a headset.

“I promised Marcus I’d game with him today,” She yawns as she hooks her laptop up to the TV. “Some game called League of Legends, Wild Rift. It’s on my phone, but he said I have to go through a tutorial, and wants to zoom with me while I do it. The things we do for nerd love are atrocious.”

“I’m sure you’ll be great at it. You catch on fast.”

“I know. But I’d like it better if he didn’t coerce me into playing it this early in the morning.”

“It’s almost 10:45 Allie.”

“Yeah,” She grumps. “early.”

You grin and grab your purse. “Well try and have fun. I’ll see you later.”

“Where are you going?”

“To some place in the Black Lanes to fix Silco’s gramophone. It’s for his birthday.”

“That’s cute.”

“I know, super cute. I’m taking Jinx with me, so pray for me homie because I have no idea how this is going to go.”

She folds her hands and closes her eyes. “Peace and blessings be upon your first mother daughter shopping trip.”

You make a face. “Okay, now you’re making it weird.”

“I hate to break it to you, but if you plan on getting hitched to your prince charming, every day you spend with Jinx will be mother daughter time.”

Put that way, it feels even weirder.

“I know but I’m just… I don’t feel old enough to be her mother. And that girl probably has way more life experience than I ever will.”

You fiddle with your purse, feeling the weight of the gun hidden in the bottom. You still haven’t told Allie about it.

She looks at you with an indignant expression.

“Don’t sell yourself short. Jinx likes you and wants to hang out with you, which means she trusts you. And if she trusts you without you even having to try, then that means you don’t have to try to keep hold of it.”

You’d never thought about it like that before.

“Don’t get too caught up in your head about it. From where I’m standing, you were made to love and fit in with that weird, messed up family.”

“Thanks. I think.”

“You’re welcome. Now get out of here so you don’t have to witness the pan of humble pie I’m about to eat for my idiot boyfriend.”

“I bet you a bottle of Shimmer that you’ll be better at it than him by the end of the day.”

“I’ll take that bet.”

“Great. I’ll see if I can find a few bottles before I come home.”

She yawns again. “Thanks. See ya.”

You gather your things and head to your car. It takes some time to clear out your back seat, but eventually you manage to create a spot for the gramophone. After turning on suitably moody music you send a quick text to Jinx letting her know you’re on your way. 

Fifteen minutes later you circle around the Spisak’s generous driveway, and back up to the garage.

Jinx must have been on the lookout for you, because she’s bounding down the stairs before you’ve fully exited the vehicle. She’s wearing a Harley Quinn inspired outfit, black and red, with her long hair in two pigtails. A studded, heart shaped purse is swinging from her narrow shoulders as she gestures wildly with her hands.

“Okay so I’m so excited for this day! I have a full itinerary of what we’re going to do once we’re on Black Lane. Do you have your hellcat?”

“Uh… yes?”

“Good, because there are like, so many cool, illegal aftermarket parts for it, and I know exactly where to buy them. Now come on, we need to get this show on the road if we’re going to hit everything on my list!”

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to hustle the gramophone into the back seat, and you take care to cover it with a cloth and nestle it next to a pile of blankets so it’s secure. 

“Okay, so what’s the name of this fantastic fry place?”

“Old Hungry. I promise you, everything there is absolutely to die for.”

You punch the name into the GPS as Jinx’s excitement fills the space. You’ve never spent dedicated time with her before outside of watching movies, so you’re not exactly sure how the day is going to go. Will the conversation be easy? Will there be conversation at all? What kind of conversation do you have with a seventeen year old?

You try to take your sister's advice and let things flow.

“Why don’t you pick the music for the drive?” You hand over your phone. “The password’s –”

“971446,” She says airily. “I know.”

“How could you possibly know that?”

“I saw you put in the passcode,” Jinx hums to some kind of tune, her fingers flying across the screen. “Okay so I love this song so much and I think you probably will too, but if you don’t that’s totally fine I’ll only be super sad and die a little inside.”

You laugh as you turn out of the driveway and she turns up the volume with an impish smile. A melancholic techno vibe fills the cab.

“Okay I’m already into it.”

“Yesss I knew it! The song’s called 'Lonely Feelings'  and it totally slaps.”

It progresses and builds until you have to agree. It does slap.

“Take a screenshot of that, will you?”

“Oh, I’m already on it toots.”

“So... how was school today?” You ask in the silence as one song finishes and the next begins.

“Ugh it was the worst! I hate homework with every fiber of my being. It’s like, why can’t I just draw what I want? Why do I have to draw 100 freakin’ circles? I know how to draw circles! I’ve drawn them a million times!”

“Ah. Sounds like this class is way below your skill level.”

“It totally is, but I have to take it to get my degree so it’s whatever. I’ll draw your 100 circles Ms. Halloway, and they’ll be the best damn circles you’ve ever seen. But they’ll also have a bit of the Jinx flair.”

“Jinx flair meaning…”

“All she said about the assignment was that it had to be a hundred circles. She didn’t say anything else, like size or medium or whether I could or could not include anything else with the circles. So I bought a 100 page newsprint pad that’s like, 36x24, and I’m drawing one circle per page. Big ones, small ones, different colored ones. Charcoal, pen, spray paint, acrylic, graphite, oil pastel, colored pencil. And I’m gonna decorate every page with my very own special sauce.”

You grin. “How’s it going so far?”

“Oh super good. I’m having so much fun, and it will be even better when I turn in my massive 100 pages, stapled at the top left corner just like she indicated in the syllabus. I’m really looking forward to watching her blow her top.”

“She’s a real stickler for rules?”

Jinx’s doc martens are up on your dash, and her legs are bouncing fitfully. “Oh yeah, Ms Halloway lives and breathes order. I think she’s had it out for me since day one because I kept questioning her boring little syllabus. But I’m good at adapting, and as dad likes to say, the only way to defeat a superior enemy is to become what they fear. So I became chaos.”

“Poor Ms. Halloway. She had no idea who she was messing with when she picked on you.”

“Oh I think she did, and that’s why she’s now my arch nemesis.”

“Wow, an arch nemesis, and you’re so young! Your dad must be proud.” 

“Oh yeah, he totally is. He says it’s important to be disliked by people. It means you’re honest, and aren’t afraid to have opinions that go against a narrative.”

“Your dad is very wise.”

“Yeah. But he’s a bit of a hypocrite though.”

“What do you mean?”

“He says he thinks it’s good when people dislike me, and then he quietly ruins their lives when they do.”

“Oh.” 

You side eye the girl. She’s chewing on her chipped fingernails. 

“Well,” You say slowly. “I know my mom has a hard time keeping a fair perspective when it comes to me and my sister. When she hears we’ve been hurt, she wants to hunt down the culprit and kill them. And that’s not an exaggeration. She wanted to throttle my old boss Jeremiah. Still does, actually.”

“That must be why Leslie and Silco get along so well. A mutual desire for murder on their children’s behalf.”

You smile. “I’m sure that whenever your dad acted, it wasn’t out of spite, but love.”

“I know that,” She sighs. “But try telling that to the world! It’s hard to make friends when everyone knows who my dad is, and that he could literally end you or your career at any second.”

“True friends won’t get scared away that easily. They’ll stay and love you anyway.” 

“Like you.”

You swallow back a sudden tightening in your throat as she grabs your free hand and holds it in her lap in a protective way.

You drive to Old Hungry in contented, companionable silence, listening to the music and wondering how on earth you got lucky enough to be chosen and loved by the such a weird, beautiful, broken, messy family. 

Chapter Text

Wednesday, October 20 (Pt. 2)

Black Lane is a district located south-east of downtown, in the Boundary Markets of Zaun. The Boundary Markets are the most cosmopolitan part of the city — as they are the part of Zaun that sits closest to Piltover — sharing many of the larger, more modern city’s unique infrastructures while still maintaining the vibrancy of Zaunite culture. It is also one of the more popular destinations in Zaun, so it‘s often filled with colorful tourists who are coming to visit the shops that are nestled around the bustling business centers. 

The Black Lane district is old, so parking options are horrendously insufficient, but Jinx is a self-proclaimed pro at navigating the area so she confidently directs you to one of the many, miniscule parking lots that litter the area. After paying the attendant an exorbitant fee you hike a few blocks to Old Hungry, which happens to be a square brick building that’s only large enough to hold a kitchen. 

After ordering, you and Jinx settle into one of the few open tables on the patio.

“Okay so first I wanna take you to this cool thrift place after we drop off Silco’s pres. It’s in this old warehouse that used to house a cult where everybody killed themselves as part of a death pact.”

“Oh. Wow.”

“I know, so crazy right? They turned the suicide room into the stock room, but apparently it’s haunted so they close early and never stay late at night."

"That sounds reasonable."

“Yeah. I've been thinking about breaking in tonight and seeing if my ghost want to have a pow wow with their ghosts. You know, for funsies.”

You attempt to hide your genuine alarm with dry humor. "Or you could have way more fun and stay at my house instead."

"Really?"

The invitation had been a whim, but based on the spark of hope in her eye it was obviously a good one. "Yeah, you and your ghosts could pow wow with me, my sister, and my cats. We have more movies, games, and snacks than any of us can handle. Ghosts included."

"Are you serious?"

"Absolutely."

"Omg, this is the best day ever!"

You laugh as her words are suddenly overrun with shivers.

“Come here,” You scoot over to pat the spot next to you. “We can share body heat while we wait.”

She happily obliges, and you catch the vibrant scent of spiced vanilla and peppermint as she huddles against your side. You link your arm through hers, and in a surprising move she puts her head on your shoulder. 

“You smell nice," She says.

“Thanks. I put on lavender and eucalyptus essential oil this morning.”

“Solid. It really matches your whole vibe.”

“I didn’t realize I had a vibe,” You say.

“Sure. You’re super chill, laid back, and natural. Also super healing, which I love for us.”

“Healing. I can live with that.”

“I feel like if you wore more color, though, it would raise those good vibrations even higher.”

You grin down at her colorful head of hair, and notice that her roots have grown out, showing a faint skunk stripe of dirty blonde.

“I guess I wouldn’t mind wearing more color, I just naturally pick out neutrals when I shop because they go with everything.”

“Which is very practical, and very you,” She quips. “Please don’t take this the wrong way because I know you know that I love you, but like… your style is just a smidge boring and forgettable, if you know what I mean.”

For a moment you consider whether you want to feel butt hurt by this observation. 

Nope, you don’t.

Besides, you want to be woman enough to admit she’s right. 

You bob your head in acceptance. “You’re not wrong.”

“But I mean I’ve seen most of your wardrobe by now, and I think we can work with what you’ve got.”

“That’s good.”

“It definitely is! You’re 80% on your way to being like, an actual icon. I’m thinking all you need are some signature pieces that will wrap it all together and make people instantly recognize you when you walk into the room. Some real show stoppers, like shoes or hats, or coats for instance.”

“Never underestimate the power of a good coat.”

“I know, right? I mean let’s get real, dad’s standard drip is boring, forgettable business man, and the only thing that makes him look so gosh darn impressive is his choice of statement pieces. I mean the man really knows how to pick a coat, you know what I mean?”

You think of how the video of Silco in his gold trimmed overcoat had held you in such a chokehold, and hold back a wistful sigh.

“Yeah.”

“So that’s my angle! We need to find you something that will uplevel your whole look.”

“I can get behind that.” 

“Well you better get behind it soon because it’s happening. Today. Also I was thinking we could maybe like, cut and color your hair too."

"Were you?" You answer in amusement.

"Yeah, because hair is such an under appreciated yet key factor in fashion. I mean think about it. It's the one thing about you that you can't change all the time... well, unless you have lots of wigs, but you get me, right? So it has to stand out and make a statement on it's own.”

"No, you’re right! I’ve actually been thinking about getting a haircut for a while. I just don’t know what I would even want.”

Her head lifts off your shoulder and her eyes shine as she clasps her hands. “We could totally figure that out tonight! My pinterest board is chock full of insane haircuts that I think would be amazing on you.”

"Okay, that sounds like fun."

"Yay!"

If her eyes were shining any more brilliantly, you’d need sunglasses. 

You stifle a grin. “Allie would love to be your co-conspirator on this too. She's been itching to get me to change my hair for ages."

"I'm so excited. I can't believe I'm going to finally meet the woman who fell in love with a stick in the mud like Marcus.”

“Don’t hold that against her. I think you and her are going to get along swimmingly.” 

You spend the next fifteen minutes discussing the evening and texting family members to inform them of your plans. To your sister, you give her a heads up about the company, and she’s just as on board as Jinx.

“I can already tell this is going to be a hella good night. I’ll buy some snacks on my way home from the shop!”

Silco responds to your text with a simple, “Thank you for informing me.”

Once your order is called, you take a sufficient amount of time to appreciate the heavenly order of loaded fries (which you both inhale at a dangerously fast rate, especially considering how hot they are), before hiking back to the car and heading to Commercia Fantastica.

The shop at least has a private lot, and you and Jinx decide to leave the gramophone in the car until you’re sure the owner will take it.

The place is a modest size, with the name emblazoned on the front window in swooping black and gold letters. The window display is stacked with antique and vintage items of all shapes and sizes. Porcelain dolls and marionettes stare blankly down from a high shelf lined with curios, toys, and tattered books. Obscure mechanical trinkets and musical instruments sit front and center in the place of honor. 

An actual bell jingles on the door when you push inside, and a man wearing a strange ocular device is hunched behind the register. His features are small and pinched, rather like a mole, an impression further cemented when he removes the glasses and squints back and forth between you and Jinx, blinking rapidly. 

Jinx wanders away almost immediately, but the man eventually appears to recognize her, and his smile blooms.

“Well now,” Is all he says, putting his hands on his ample hips.

“Hello,” You say after an awkward pause.

He looks at you expectantly, and you stumble around to explain your mission as delicately as possible. You indicate that the instrument belongs to Jinx's father, and thankfully the man appears to appreciate the urgency of the mission without you needing to spell it out for him. He claims to be honored to be chosen to look at the gramophone, and when you take him outback to look at the music box, an admiring glint enters his eye.

“Oh, she’s a real beauty, she is.”

He goes on to explain that it’s a very old, very classic model that is rarely seen on the market these days as it’s often purchased by collectors.

“When do you need it by?” He asks, running stubby fingers over the horn.

“Friday night at the latest,” You reply. “If that’s even possible.”

“Oh anything’s possible if you know the right people,” He says with a squinting grin, “I’m sure my contacts in the industry will have no problem sniffing out the right part. Though it could be pricey.”

“I’m okay with that.”

“Well now."

He seems thoroughly delighted at the prospect of tinkering around with the gramophone.

You help him carry it through the backdoor of the shop, which he locks immediately with an old fashioned looking key. You enter into the area that looks like the place he does repairs, which is littered with disemboweled instruments and strange looking tools. You have to push aside the junk in order to make room for the gramophone. He then takes a moment to scribble something on a piece of paper, and takes you back into the shop.

While he fills out a form you wander a little, taking note of a record collection in the back corner of the room, and a few interesting things in a cluttered glass cabinet. Eventually he calls you over to have you fill out your contact information, and says he’ll call you with a quote by the end of the day.

You leave with a sense of deep-seated accomplishment.

Phase two of your plan is complete, with phase three well underway. 

“Okay so the thrift shop is just around the corner,” Jinx claims, “But don’t let the outside appearance fool you. This place is where I get all my coolest gear.” 

You follow her to a decrepit warehouse several streets over, where a faded sign above the front entrance reads: First Assemblage of the Glorious Evolved , and it definitely gives you “ex-death pact cult meeting house” vibes. However, it’s clear they took great pains to make it appealing on the inside. The low, squat building is filled with rows upon rows of racked clothing, hedged with enormous bins of accessories. You rarely thrift, so the sheer size and disorganization of the place is overwhelming. Not to mention the clientele, who are predominantly hip, cool, or just plain intimidating.

“Where do we even start?” 

You have to shuffle sideways to follow Jinx between a shirt rack and a rather buff armed girl in a beanie, who’s leaning over the jewelry counter.

“Coats,” She says with confidence. “I was thinking it over, and I realized that you definitely need to get on dad's level with your outerwear. That way you guys can form a united front once you’re officially a thing. You’ll be the cool cop to his scary cop routine.”

“Right. Great.”

She leads you to the requisite racks and declares a free for all, telling you to work your way from the left while she goes at it from the right. You obey with your mind only partially on the task.

Officially a thing.

So even Jinx doesn't think it's official, even though it's been declared as much by her father.

You heave a sigh.

You thought clearing up the unspoken thing with Silco would feel different. Complete, maybe. That you’d be totally secure once he said you were together, and that you’d quickly learn how to navigate having a private, mostly-a-secret romance. 

Turns out your relationship feels more like a concept than a reality. 

It’s not that you aren’t being realistic. Nothing is as cut and dried as you wish it was, and this being together but not together thing is way trickier to  emotionally navigate than you'd imagined. You’re desperate to go deeper, get to know him as more than just your sexy boss turned ….

What, lover?

Hardly.

He may be an excellent kisser with expertly wandering hands, but so far that’s all. Granted you haven’t been official for long, but you can't help being greedy for more. More conversations, more embraces, more time, more sacred laughter barked between crooked, gap-toothed smiles.

In short, you want more of him.

But vulnerability isn’t a part of his family culture like it is yours. You'd known that going in, but one of the unintended consequences of growing up with a therapist as a mother is that you’re impatient with the process. The pace of your progress is pretty impressive, considering who you're dealing with. Realistically it’ll take time for him to open up, let alone be vulnerable to the degree you’re used to, and expect, from anyone in your circle. 

But he's worth the wait .

Who cares if he keeps holding back? That means it’ll be all the more satisfying when he finally lets go. So what if he constantly checks his conduct when you’re alone, and carefully chooses all his words? That will make it all the more deliciously sweet when he drops those habits and throws his inhibitions to the wind. 

Though to be fair to yourself, he’s not the only problem in the way of taking this thing to another level. You’re not naturally the physically affectionate type, and you’ve been perfectly content with what you have going on: stolen kisses and sudden sessions of flirtatious and witty banter. Despite the misery of the prolonged unspoken thing, you’ve secretly thrived on the sexual tension built between the two of you over the last few weeks.

But let’s be honest, here. Weren’t you the one spouting objections yesterday, when he suggested taking fifteen more minutes? 

If you hadn’t, who knows where you might have ended up?

You know exactly where you would have ended up, and it isn’t exactly the highway to heaven.

“Okay toots, I see you!”

The girl bumps your shoulder, and you shake off your fantasy with a sense of horrified guilt. 

Your cheeks burn as you stammer out, “What?”

“That coat. You’ve been staring at it for the last two minutes and it’s like, totally you but on an existential level.”

You blink in surprise at the piece of clothing in your hand, and realize with some surprise that you do like it. It stops at the natural waist, and is mostly neutral with a pop of color. It’s not anything like the coats Silco wears, but you can imagine how starkly impressive you’d look standing next to him in this, the light to his darkness.

You aren’t sure if you're holding onto it because your subconscious was hard at work, or if it just happened to be the jacket you were flipping past when you started daydreaming about Silco.

Either way, you pull it off the rack.

“Alright, now we're cookin'!"

You balk as she drags you away from the coats and towards the dresses. 

“I thought we were just here for statement pieces?”

“Nope. Silco’s birthday is coming up and you need to find a fit that will enslave his soul to yours forever.”

“Sounds totally achievable."

“You're a lot closer than you think," She grins. "That dress you wore to The Fissures was a total knockout. I saw Sevika sneaking pictures of you all night.”

“Huh. I didn’t think I was her type.”

“No silly! That’s a classic Silco move when he’s trying to be sly about recon. Have his chief of security take pictures and send them to his email with a bunch of bull recounting how so-and-so is a security risk or whatever. But I know for a fact that he downloaded the attachments of you and has those pictures in his phone.”

“How do you know that?”

“Well, I don’t actually know, but I feel it in my gut. Otherwise, why would he have had Sevika take so many pictures of you from behind?”

“I don’t know,” You continue, struggling to fight through the fluster. “Maybe Sevika’s a butt girl.” 

“They’re both into butts, trust me on this. I’ve overheard way too many horrifying conversations before to be in any doubt.”

She shudders, and you try to imagine a scenario during which the two most intimidating people on the planet have casual conversations about women’s behinds. Sevika definitely fits the profile, but you consider whether you’ve noticed Silco paying particular attention to your asset. In hindsight, there are perhaps several occasions where you’ve noticed his eyes sliding up after you turn around to face him.

Another warm thrill, another fight to keep your thoughts on the moment at hand and not the past, where your ass was firmly planted in his lap.

Come on woman, keep it together!

“Okay, so we’re looking for a party dress.”

“Or maybe like a super fancy pantsuit. I’m pretty sure you’d slay in a good pantsuit.”

Having Jinx along makes the process of fancy dress shopping as entertaining as you imagine it would be. Plus she’s an excellent fashion advisor, so you let her lead you to and from the changing rooms to model all your collective finds. 

Most of them are duds, but one of them is a gem. You feel the confidence brimming the second you slip on the piece and gaze at your reflection in the mirror. Jinx’s wild exclamations confirm that you’ve found the one.

“OMG, you look even better than I could have hoped! I’m totally buying a camera so I can document the look on dad’s face when he sees you. He’s going to go absolutely feral.”

She squeals, and you hide a flush of pleasure by turning to look at your reflection once again. You wipe your hands across the material, and smile broadly with at your reflection.

Maybe you and Silco are still figuring out the natural dance of your underground relationship, but if anything can help you break through the initial awkwardness, this little number certainly could. 

Chapter Text

Wednesday, October 20 (Pt. 3)

You sit in Jinx’s spinning chair, and scroll through your camera roll while she flies about with an enormous tote bag, shoving stuff into it willy-nilly. At some point she disappears into her attached bathroom and emerges dressed in pink and purple slippers, booty shorts, and an oversized, vintage, Joan Jett Tee.

“We’re not going anywhere tonight, are we toots?”

“Not if I have anything to say about it.”

“Great. Let’s blow this Popsicle stand.” 

The last thing she grabs is a ragged, stuffed shark and shoves it under her arm before throwing the tote over her shoulder like it’s Santa’s bag. As you follow her down the stairs, you spy a nintendo switch, sketchbook and pencil case, and a mysterious deck of cards poised on top of the pile, defying the will of gravity. 

Jinx waves at her own portrait as you pass Silco’s office, "Hi pops", and you wave almost automatically in response. You wonder if he can actually see you, wherever he is.

Jinx helps herself to a bottle of strawberry milk, and you grab three Shimmers from the fridge before Jinx sets the house alarm and you head off to the car. The ride to the apartment is filled with excited babbling and chaotic music choices, and by the time you park you’re pretty sure Jinx is about to self-destruct. Allie is waiting for your arrival in the kitchen, chopping up veggies, resplendent in her tatted, baggy sweat-panted glory.

She looks over her shoulder at you with a broad grin, and salutes your arrival with the knife.

“Howdy y’all.”

“Hiya!” Jinx responds with enthusiasm, “I can’t believe I finally get to meet you!”

“I know,” Allie says. “I didn’t really get to say hey at your art show. Your stuff was super dope, by the way.”

“Thanks.”

“Who’s the shark?”

Jinx clutches the animal closer to her chest as her cheeks turn a rosy pink. “His name’s Mr. Fishbones.”

“That’s a sick name.”

She stares at Allie with wide eyes for several beats. Then, “You know, you’re nothing like I imagined. You’re like, so cool.”

“I understand the confusion. You probably thought I looked like of model for Lululemon, like my little sister.”

She strikes a sexy pose and Jinx snorts.

“Okay guys, I get it. I’m boring and basic and super uncool. Do you have to rub it in?”

“We don’t mean it like that!” Jinx hastens to assure you (with a completely un-assuring, gleeful grin). “Do we Allie?”

“Of course not,” Allie also assures you (but with a shit-eating grin). “You’re totally cool, but in a grownup, competent kind of way.”

“As opposed to the cool, artistic 12 year-old-emo-girl vibes that you both embody.”

“Yep,” Jinx confirms.

“Absolutely,” Allie smirks.

“You’re the mom friend of the group,” Jinx adds. “Which I need real bad right now because I have a serious urge to get a tattoo.”

She looks at Allie’s tattoos with envy. “Did you do all of those yourself?”

“Almost all of them, except the ones on my left arm.”

Jinx shuffles into the kitchen to grab Allie’s right arm, exclaiming over a triceratops skeleton, a cat wearing crocs, and a pair of sparrows circling her forearm.

“Holy freakin’ cow. I need a tattoo from you like, yesterday.”

“I’d be down to do one on you.”

“For real?”

“Yeah, just tell me what you want, where you want it, and when you want it, and I can hook you up.”

“Hell. Yeah!” Jinx pumps her fists dramatically.

“Well I don’t know about you guys,” Allie says, turning back to the cutting board. “But I’m starving. Who’s ready for a girl dinner of fancy wieners with mac and cheese?”

“Ooh, me!”

“Great, it’s already cooking.”

You show Jinx to your room so she can set down her bags. Jorts is curled up in a shrimp like pose on your bed, causing an immediate exclamation of joy. 

“OMG she’s just the cutest! Can I pet her?”

“Sure. You can even pick her up, if you want.”

Jinx doesn’t need to be told twice. She scoops Jorts up in her arms, and the cat releases a single, confused meow before submitting herself happily to Jinx’s enthusiastic head and belly scratches. 

“Who’s a cute little meow meow?”

You laugh. “Don’t let Crocs hear you, or she’ll demand attention too.”

“Bring it on! I’ve got two hands. I think I can take them both.”

She follows you back to the kitchen, fully happy and occupied with the cat until she sees the mac and cheese boxes.

“Scooby Doo shaped noodles? Are you kidding me?”

Allie is mixing the milk, butter, and cheese into the pot of noodles, looking smug. “I know right? The shaped noodles taste –”

“ – taste way better than regular noodles!” Jinx chimes in with excitement.

“I knew I’d like you.”

Jorts decides at that moment to wriggle out of the girl’s arms and sniff out the food bowl. It was recently filled, but she isn’t convinced it’s real food until you jiggle the bowl (very vigorously).

“I still can’t believe you’re the girl dating Marcus,” Jinx says.

“I couldn’t believe it either," You deadpan, "Not at first anyway.”

You start cleaning up and organizing the carnage of mac and cheese packages on the counter, and Jinx makes herself at home as soon as you’ve wiped away the last vestiges of powdered cheese. She expertly jumps up to sit on the newly cleaned surface, grabbing a banana and pretending to use it as a gun as her legs swing.

“How did he trick you into dating him? I mean no offense, but you’re a Piltover 10, while Marcus is clearly a Zaun 6.”

You laugh so hard that Allie looks slightly offended. “I think he’s at least a Zaun 7!”

“Maybe on a good day. He might even be a Zaun 7.5 if he didn’t scowl so much.” 

Jinx does such an impressive impersonation that even Allie releases a grudging laugh.

“Okay, so maybe he isn’t the hottest guy around, but he has other more important qualities.”

Jinx closes one eye and lines up the imaginary sight of her banana gun on the headless horseman across the living room. “Like what?”

“Well, Mark is very considerate towards my sister, and a gentleman.”

Both Allie and Jinx look at you in surprise.

“Wait, are you actually helping me hype up Marcus?” Allie asks in delight.

“I’m not hyping him, I’m just saying that I think it’s nice that he takes the time to get together with you, and bring you flowers.”

“Marcus gives you flowers?” Jinx looks extremely doubtful. 

“Yeah, he’s a pretty thoughtful guy. He even planned a surprise for me when we went to an escape room. None of my other boyfriends ever gave me gifts like that.”

“Mark’s Ass still has a long way to go when it comes to awkwardness,” You chime in. “But I’m sure he’ll come around.”

Jinx giggles gleefully. “Mark’s Ass? Ooh that’s the best thing I’ve heard all day. I have to tell Ekko!”

She whips out her phone and starts typing madly.

“So, you and Ekko,” You say casually as you grab plates and bowls from the cupboard. “How serious are you guys?”

“Honestly, I don’t even know. Kind of serious I guess? I mean he texts me cute things, and sometimes when we hang we talk about pretty serious stuff. Like how hard it was growing up with a single dad, or how the world seems to be going crazy. But we don’t really make time to see each other that often.”

“Time apart is perfectly normal and good in healthy relationships,” You assure her.

Even when it feels like it’s driving you mad.

“She’s right,” Allie nods. “It’s super important to have alone time.”

“Really?”

“100%.”

“You’re still a whole person without Ekko,” You say. “And you should put as much energy into yourself as you would the relationship.”

“But shouldn’t he want to spend time with me, if he likes me? I mean he doesn’t even try to call, or make up any lame excuses to talk!”

She looks so affronted that you have to laugh, “I don’t think that’s how boys work.”

“But you and Silco make excuses to call each other all the time!”

Allie oohs, then laughs, and you have to raise your voice to be heard over her racket. “Well your dad’s pretty busy, so calling is the only way we get to spend time together. And it isn’t even like we’re spending time together so much as working. Or having an argument.”

About you or Ekko, funny enough.

She looks unsatisfied with your answer. “Still…”

“Every relationship is going to look different,” You try again. 

“Yeah,” Allie pipes in. “Plus you and Ekko are a whole lot younger than we are. You’re going to have a totally different experience for that reason alone.”

“Maybe,” Jinx says stubbornly. “but I’ve thought about it a lot, and I know what I want.” 

“Which is?” You prompt.

“I want what you and Silco have.”

Her answer startles you. “Really? What do you think we have?”

She fiddles with the banana. “I don’t know, you guys just… compliment each other, I guess. Even if the two of you don’t really make any sense. I mean you’re both like, badass and all of that stuff so you make sense on one hand, but on the other hand you don’t, you know?”

Your confusion must be showing on your face because she abandons the banana to lean forward, face full of fervor. 

“I just mean you shouldn’t work because you’re so different! But that doesn’t seem to matter at all, because you guys figure it out. And I want that. I want things to work out, even when it doesn’t make sense. Even if the odds are like, totally against me.”

“Huh,” You play with your sweatshirt strings. “I hadn’t really thought about it before. Your dad and I make sense to me because… well, I guess there was never really an option for us not to make sense. In my head, I mean. I just liked him, and by some miracle he liked me too, and here we are.”

“Your level of delusion is so adorable,” Allie says with a romantic sigh.

“Hey, you were the one who encouraged me to let myself fall in love!”

“Yeah, but I never said that I thought you guys made sense! I just wanted you to be happy, even if it was with the man who has the biggest ‘criminal overlord’ vibes in town. No offense, Jinx.”

“No, that’s totally valid,” She replies. “He’s got that kind of mysterious, dark energy, no cap.”

You scratch your scalp, and smile ruefully at the two smug girls in front of you.

You hadn’t thought about how little you make sense. Or that there was a lot going against you. Or that you might actually be a more unlikely pairing than Marcus and Allie (though they do run a close second).

“Well if you can take anything from your dad and my relationship,” You say at last, trying to bring it back around. “It’s that if you’re meant to be together, then things will work out. It may take some time and patience but –”

You’re cut off by your phone ringing.

“Ooh!” Jinx exclaims with sudden, manic energy. “Fifty bucks says that’s Silco!” 

“No way!” Allie laughs when you look at the caller ID, and fail to respond. 

“Shut up,” You mutter, “I’ll be right back.”

You pretend not to hear their teasing and jeering as you step outside.

“You have excellent timing.”

“Are you and Jinx at your apartment?”

Silco’s abrupt question immediately puts you on your guard.

“Yes,” You answer slowly. “Why? Is something wrong?”

“When did you leave the house?”

“Yours? Um… half an hour ago, I think. What’s going on?”

His long pause increases your unease.

“It’s nothing,” Is his eventual, unconvincing reply. “Are you planning on going out again this evening?”

“No but… you’re starting to freak me. Did something happen that I should know about?”

“No. You’re perfectly safe.”

He says it without hesitation, with the utmost confidence, but it almost sounds as if he’s trying to convince more than just yourself. 

You huddle closer to the door frame, looking out at the approaching twilight with suspicion. 

“Okay, I believe you.”

“As you should.”

“As I should,” You repeat slowly as you catch sight of a dark figure huddled in a car across the street.

Your eyes narrow. 

It seems to you like they tried to hide their face when you looked over, but you can’t tell if you’re just being paranoid. After all, shady people come and go from your complex all the time, and Silco’s call hasn’t changed that. Still, it doesn’t help that he called you to tell you “nothing’s wrong ”, and “You’re perfectly safe” .

“How has your time been with Jinx?” He asks. His voice sounds strained. “Did anything unusual occur during your visit to Black Lane?”

“Not that I remember.”

But now you distrust your brain, and you attempt to think back on if there were any particularly strange individuals that caught your attention. None come immediately to mind.

“We didn't do a lot. We ate and went shopping in a haunted thrift store.”

“Did you go anywhere else?”

“I– well we made a few more stops after that for um... aftermarket parts. You know, for the hellcat?”

"What were the names of these establishments?"

Your anxiety is rising higher. "I don't know. The places we visited didn't really have store fronts. They were kind of just... garages."

You find yourself holding your breath at the silence on the other end of the line.

Then he says, rather clipped. “Very well. I would appreciate it if you remained indoors until tomorrow morning.”

“Yeah, sure, I can do that. Let me know if anything… you know, happens. Or changes, or… or whatever. Or if I can help in any way.”

“It would help me very greatly if you do as I ask.”

Stress is leaking through the tightness in his voice.

“You don’t have to worry about that,” You answer. “We weren’t planning on leaving the house tonight.”

You feel your phone start to buzz, and look at the incoming call. You recognize the number with an excited jolt.

“I’m so sorry Silco, I hate to go but I have to take this call. But you can feel free to check in later, if you want! I’ll probably still be up around 11.”

“Perhaps I will.”

“Okay, great! Talk to you later! Love you! Bye!”

Those two little words slip out so effortlessly, it's almost shocking. But there's no time to dwell on them as you answer the next call. “Hi Mr. Guzman! Did you find the part?”

As you listen with satisfaction to the repairman’s report, you can hear Jinx and Allie's muffled laughter. You try to focus on his quote, and his answers as you ask all the important questions: Yes it can be fixed. No, it won’t take long to install. Yes, it'll be ready for you by Friday morning, for pickup by 10pm at the latest. Yes, it will be expensive but I take credit card.

In less than five minutes you have Silco’s present officially squared away, and the pickup arranged. After you hang up you take several deep breaths. You're feeling so much, you aren’t sure which emotion to give more attention to: the thrill that you’re actually going to have Silco's gift ready in time; Embarrassment at the flippantly given 'Love you'; Unease at Silco’s cryptic threat of danger, no matter how small. 

The night air is chilly, making you shiver and pull your sweater tighter around you. The yellow street lights flicker on, painting the complex across the street in ominous, unnameable shades.

The world around you looms, but simply knowing that Silco exists in this world, and is watching out for you, brings a great deal of comfort.

It’s a terrifying, yet wonderfully strange dichotomy.

As you turn to re-enter the apartment, you wonder what other strange and wonderful experiences your relationship with Silco will bring.