desiderium | m. o'hara

thirty-one

She's skin and bones, as light as a feather in Miguel's arms when he rises, cradling her to his chest. She's younger than Rosalina, but not by much, and the despair that floods through him when he feels her trembling is more potent than what he's felt before in similar situations.

Being a dad really has changed him. All Miguel wants to do is get these kids to safety and go home to his daughter. His pace to the exit is quicker than it needs to be.

His hearing picks up the shuffle of a shoe against the dusty ground. His nose catches the scent of sweat, of metal and gunpowder. Miguel turns and shoots a web at the man that's just stepping out from behind a corner of stacked crates, snatching onto his face and yanking him down to knock himself out on his own half-raised gun.

He buckles to the floor. Sophia yelps and hides her face into Miguel's shoulder. He pats her back soothingly.

"That was the last one," he reassures. A new line of red web flicks out from his wrist to retrieve the gun, which he then crumples like paper in his palm. It drops to the floor with a heavy clunk. "Muy bueno. You're very brave, Sophia."

She weeps into his shoulder. When he strokes her soft hair as he walks down the long hall of empty cages, his heart breaks. It feels like Rosalina's hair. Sophia sounds like her when she cries.

If it weren't for Jess being here, if it weren't for the kids, Miguel would tear the throats out of every sick individual involved in this operation, be it fangs or talons.

Jess has already tied up all of the ring members and is talking to a police chief that's arrived on the scene when Miguel enters. Another handful of officers talk to the kids and hand out blankets, bewildered by the vigilante and hero duo that's done their job for them. A police officer reaches for Sophia and, reluctantly, Miguel lets her go.

She stares at him with glossy, brown eyes from over the officer's shoulder. Her parting gift is a weak wave. He waves back, then touches the handmade pink-daisy bracelet on his wrist.

Jess nudges Miguel's arm with her shoulder. He tears his gaze away and turns his attention to her. She nods her head to the back exit and begins wheeling her bike away from the crowd, and after another lingering look at the children, he follows. Their work is done; it's up to the police department to reunite the stolen kids with their families.

The midnight air is brisk. It's a relief on Miguel's face when his mask crawls back. The pitch darkness of the alleyway doesn't hinder his vision, even without the enhancement of his suit.

They watch the ring members get tossed into the back of a police van from afar, lingering in the exit of the alleyway. It's a relief to see their twisted mugs be put away.

"Good job," Jess says.

"Yeah, well, we could've been faster." If they'd been faster, these kids wouldn't have to have suffered for as long. If they'd been faster, then his wife and daughter might not have been targeted the way they had been that one Saturday evening.

His fists clench. He really wish he'd torn just one throat out.

Jess shakes her head with a scoff. She leans against her bike, crosses her arms, and glares up at him.

"It's a miracle you're still married. You're always so negative," she mutters. Her eyes squint further at his weary countenance as he watches the scene. "And tired. Have you been getting any rest?"

  "No," he mutters.

  "O'Hara," Jess chastises. "You've got too much on your plate. You need to lessen your load."