Blood of the Devil

Chapter 25 - With Me or Against Me

"Oh my."

Letha red hair was splayed out around her head and her breathing was ragged as she stared at the women. Mickey was no better off; he was puffing, his jacket slipped off one shoulder as his hands grasped Letha's wrists, but his eyes were fixed intently on her face.

Min leapt to the rescue. "Martha, Janice," she crooned, stepping between them and the teenagers. "We're doing a self defence workshop. I'm so sorry - I thought I put the closed sign up."

The woman at the back, looking quite shaken, frowned. "It's not up."

"I'm terribly sorry, Janice," min said, stepping closer to force them out the door.

"Self defence?" Martha asked, craning to look under Min's arm at Mickey and Letha.

"You can never be too careful."

Martha pursed her lips. "But you don't have any protective gear on. You should put some on before you hurt yourselves."

"There's no protective gear in the real world, Martha. I get enough weird looks without walking around wearing enough padding to rival a sumo in size. I'll see you lovely ladies tomorrow. Bye." And she shut the door in the face of two very indignant women.

Min's forehead hit the door lightly and she leaned against the wood. "If they never come back," she warned, "I expect the pair of you to come in daily and order a pot of Turkish tea and a medium plate of baklava." She turned back to see them Starring at each other, both refusing to blink. Letha nails were in her palm again. Min coughed.

As his head jerked up, Mickey rolled off Letha, smiling apologetically up at his friend. "Sorry min."

Letha sat up, dragging herself a away from him to lean against the wall. "You started it."

"Me?" Mickey demanded, scowling at her. "How's that?"

"You grabbed my arm, Sherlock," Letha sneered, looking away from him. She pushed her hair out of her face.

"So?"

Letha laughed sharply, a single bark before she swung her head to frown at him. "You're kidding right?" She pointed to her eye, where the skin was still purple. Lifting the hem of her shirt, she showed his the bruise that ran along her rib cage. Mickey shuffled forward, his mouth open in outrage and looked at her torso. When his fingers stretched out to touch her, Letha tugged her shirt down and scowled at him.

"Your father?" He asked, letting his fingers fall.

Letha paled slightly. "I thought you knew."

"No, I never..." Mickey trailed off, looking away from her. "I'm so sorry, Letha."

"But..." Her eyes flicked to Min and she chose her words carefully. "You know who he is. I figured you knew what he did."

Mickey snorted. "24 hours ago, you confirmed our worst nightmare. And then there was you and Hadrian. You made it worse. I'm still processing what I expected, let alone what this all means for you two." Suddenly, Mickey's head snapped up. "Oh God. Lust... He never..."

Letha shook her head, pushing off the wall to put some room between them. "No. My uncles don't touch us. Wrath's nearly as possessive as greed or gluttony."

"I'm so sorry, Letha," Mickey said again, rubbing his jaw.

She grunted. "I don't need your pity."

"It's not pity," he murmured, sliding away so he could lean ago at one of Min's tables. "It's empathy."

He took a breath. "I'll make you a deal: I'll never touch you again unless you ask me to..."

Letha snorted, but Mickey raised a finger in warning. "...but you give me the day, until 2. That way, we will get back in plenty of time for you to find Hadrian. Until then though, you try to be yourself."

She sighed, folding her arms across her chest. "Fine."

With a deep breath Mickey shook his head. "I truly am so sorry, Letha."

"It doesn't matter," she squirmed, avoiding his gaze, "just forget about it."

Mickey dropped it, opening his mouth to apologise to a very confused, very stunned, Min instead, but she cut him off.

"So what are you guys planning for today then, other than scaring off all my customers?" She asked, one hand on her hip.

He shrugged, looking sheepish. "Coming here was a very rash decision...I haven't thought this far ahead."

Letha groaned. "Great."

"Explain a little bit," min suggested, smirking at Letha, "and maybe I can help."

"Letha's family is..."

Letha jerked into a sitting position. "Don't..." She warned.

"...dysfunctional, to say the least. Her father..."

"Sherlock!!" She thundered as she scrambled to her feet. Mickey copied her movement, still speaking.

"...is an asshole, and because of this Letha behaves like an asshole. I want to see whether, away from him, she is different."

Letha growled, stamping forward to hiss at Mickey. "This is my life; you can't go around telling perfect strangers. It's not your goddamn business to begin with."

"I've made it my business." Mickey said softly, staring her down. "And min isn't a stranger: she's helped me through my life, and n thought maybe, maybe, she could help me help you."

"I'm also not perfect," min added.

Letha was still fuming. "I don't want your help. Or need it. I've been doing doing fine on my own for the last 16 years."

"What about Hadrian?" Mickey asked slowly. Letha's jaw shut with a click and she stepped away. "Only until 2 Letha. Let me help you until 2 and then I'll leave you in peace. I won't talk to you, I won't come near you, I won't be your friend. Just spend the day as Letha."

They stood like that for a moment, Letha half gone, torn between walked away and being 'Letha'. Mickey's hands were fists as he resisted the urge to reach out and pull her back to him: this had to be her decision. Plus, he didn't want to get slapped.

Min turned away, feeling like an intruder in her own shop. They were both still in uniform, both looking haggard, and both fighting a war she knew nothing about. It wasn't her place to watch. And that annoyed Min just a little bit.

"What if she's no better," Letha said eventually, still not moving, "what if I'm no different?"

"Then it doesn't matter." Mickey tilted his head, wedging his fingers in typo lets of his slacks. "But what if you are, Letha? What do you do then?"

Letha raised her head, looking back at him. Her chin was steady, her expression flat, but she looked at him resignedly.

"Then," she murmured, "it won't matter."

With that said, Letha brushed past him to leave the restaurant. As the door slammed behind her, Mickey slumped forward, breathing deeply.

"Is she always like that?" Min asked softly, and he turned to her, confused. "So... alone?"

He shook his head. "She's not alone. I'm with her. Or I will be when she stops fighting me."

Min made a noise. "Not from where she's standing. She thinks you're not with her, and if you're not with her, you're against her."

Mickey swallowed, looking out the door, and took another deep breath. "I've got to go, Min. I'm sorry we crashed in on you so suddenly and, well, devastatingly."

"It's fine, Mickey. I needed some time off," she smiled, "and since it seems I'm closed today."

He nodded, starting towards the door. "Thank you min." He glanced over his shoulder as he opened the door. "What did you hear?" He asked slowly.

Min grinned. "Nothing you didn't want me to."

"Thank you." And Mickey slipped outside.

Taking a deep breath, min played with the scarf in her hand. "...or that I didn't need to."

Slowly, hesitantly, min grabbed the landline, dialled a number smoothly. She cringed with each ring, and let out a deep sigh when a man answered.

"Hey, I think I found her..."