Wasn't it easier in your firefly-catching days?
Always a bigger bed to crawl into
Wasn't it beautiful, running wild till you fell asleep
Before the monsters caught up to you?
________________________________________________________________________________
After a contentious meeting of diatribes from Lumley, aspiring enforcer background checks, three trials, and a thousand raging petitioners, Ekko walks with me to my therapy appointment. He's waiting with his bag full of groceries when I emerge an hour later.
"Want to come to the fort for dinner?" he asks.
"Today?" I say in surprise. Images of rainy streets and the dim room where empty pistols pressed to my head are still working their way to the back of my mind. I've been assigned to bring a friend and stand out on the patio for a few minutes tonight, something that should be exceedingly simple, yet the prospect sends anxiety down my limbs in brief sparks. I haven't visited the garden since, either.
"So you don't have time to psych yourself out," he explains.
"Ah."
I'm beyond tired, emotionally and physically, and I don't know what the sight of the Undercity after my abduction will do to my nerves. Not to mention how many Topside garments and accessories I'm wearing. I really should just head home and have a nap.
"You're certain your people won't mind having me around?" I say.
"They'll be fine."
I wave off my guard and we set off in step toward the bridge. I take a deep breath, absorbing sunlight.
"How are Vi and Jinx settling in?" I say.
Ekko suddenly looks like he's seen a ghost. "Fine. Jinx gave the Firelights an apology."
"Was it not up to par?"
"Huh? No, it was pretty decent. Why?"
"You seemed agitated when I asked."
He shakes his head. "No. All good."
"Did something happen between you and her?"
His complexion grays out. "What?" he says, snapping his sharp attention to me, and I curse myself. The session with the counselor opened me up too far.
"Never mind," I say. "I'm overstepping. I apologize."
"What do you think 'me and her' is?" he asks.
"Well, you told me that the two of you used to be best friends and family."
He's silent, almost anticipatory.
Perhaps I ought to tread carefully after our quarrel, but I get the sense, even with his tension, that I can and should be honest as his bosom friend. "With the way you behaved at the ball, I wondered if there was also a romantic or sexual element to your dynamic."
I've hit the bullseye, though he tries for a second to look indignant. "No," he says on an exhale. "There's just Jinx doing stupid shit and me getting involved where I shouldn't."
"That's a shame," I say. Irresponsibly, I add, "She appears very authentic to me, as strange as that may sound. Not that that makes you obligated to have a relationship with her, but if it matters— if it seems like she feels something, I would guess she does, even if she handles it inappropriately."
Ekko shakes his head again. "That isn't how she is. Sometimes she thinks she cares about me, but she dropped me without a word when we were young, after years of being thick as— little thieves." His voice gentles on the end of the sentence— some reference I'm not privy to, I assume— then hardens alarmingly. "All she wants me for now is crayons and guilt fucking."
I give a bit of a gasp, my high-class conditioning automatically activated, and he looks over and seems to register his own words.
"Sorry," he says, scratching at his hair. "Um— that didn't actually happen. She just had it in her head that it was a good idea, like hurting her might get me to stop holding a grudge and making her feel guilty. That's what she said, that I could hurt her. She came to my room and kind of— not that you want to hear about this— I just can't tell Vi, clearly, and I can't tell any of the Firelights, because they'd feel like shit knowing I wanted that when it hadn't even been a day since she admitted she did anything wrong. That I wanted to— that I wanted the other stuff, not to hurt her. I didn't want anything after she brought that part up. I kicked her out." He drops his hand. "Still not your problem, though. Sorry."
"No, it's all right," I insist. "This is what bosom friends are for."
He laughs reluctantly. "Is it?"
"Yes. You tell them anything you can't tell your other friends or your family, and they keep it in confidence."
He laughs again, more bitter now. "That used to be Powder."
"You can have multiple bosom friends," I say. "Perhaps she'll be one of yours down the line. I find it difficult to believe that she simply doesn't care for you."
"It was difficult for me too."
"She really propositioned you just to get you to hurt her?" I ask.
"Sure looked like it," he says, scuffing a boot on the stones. "But I didn't ask for clarification."
"You did the right thing in rejecting her."
"I know."
"But I don't think you have to feel sorry for participating to begin with. It doesn't mean you don't hold her responsible for the damage she's done, or that your losses at her hand don't matter to you. It can be something that exists separately, contradictingly. That happens sometimes."
Ekko toys with the pocket watch in his holster, considering.
"Just try not to judge yourself too harshly," I say. "You know who you are. So do your people."
"Yeah. They do."
"I don't have experience with loving someone who's wronged me the way Jinx has wronged you, but I understand well what it's like to have an attachment that's looked down upon by the people around you. You can talk to me whenever you'd like."
He bristles at the word "loving," but we both let it pass. "Thanks."
"Of course."
We walk a few yards in comfortable, if thoughtful, silence. He eventually asks, "How're things on your end? With your mom?"
Mum and I have become even colder with each other since the abduction and that first Council meeting, if that's even possible. "No fighting right now," I say. "That's the best I can hope for until one of us cracks. It's quiet without the girls around."
"Is that good or bad?"
I smile at the memory of the honking noise that came from their room the night of the ball. And of evading Mum's wrath with Vi, and of seeing Jinx in my periphery, slithering past an air vent or scribbling a monkey on a countertop. "It's funny," I say. "I'm only now realizing just how big my house is."
"'Only now'?"
"What an embarrassment, I know."
Ekko gives me an unexpected shoulder-check, which has me scrambling for an apology in the split second before I register the amusement in his expression. The first time I was knocked that way was by Vi the day I freed her, when we were looking out over the Last Drop, and that one wasn't so friendly.
That place does look like it has bodies buried in the basement.
You don't know anything.
I find it enthralling, the way harsh contact is used by trenchers both in conflict and as a display of affection. Vi does it to Ekko all the time— less often to Jinx, though, and not to me. Ironically, it seems to be a very boundary-conscientious practice.
"I'm glad they're back home," I say. "They wouldn't want to stay cooped up with me forever."
"They like it there," Ekko says. "They'll visit."
I knew they would, but it's good to hear it aloud. "I invited Vi to the Council dinner," I say.
"Oh yeah? You're moving that quick?"
I check him in return, throwing caution to the wind. He stumbles— I don't know how much force the move takes, and it looks like I overestimated— and gives me a look of approval. "Nice one."
I rub my shoulder, delighted. "It's hard to believe I've only known you three for a month."
He looks out at the bridge. "Feels like a whole new world, right?"
"It does."
The enforcers at the bridge's end, armed and at attention, give us impassive scans as we walk by. They don't like that I too am carrying a rifle, but I haven't felt comfortable venturing outside without it. The streets have been minutely restless, to a point no one else I've asked has noticed, and it makes me restless too, even though our response to the "Red Gala," as the tabloids are now calling it, was reasonably well-received. Ekko makes a subtle move as if to guard me until they take their eyes off us. At the other end, he says, "If you don't want to go on the lift, you can take my hoverboard and I'll climb down with you."
The last time I was in this spot, I was putting on a cloak so my identity would be hidden while I walked to my death. The memory is enraging.
"Let's take the lift," I say. It can replace the patio in my assigned work.
The muck outside the entrance where I left a footprint is still there, fading print included, and it makes me faintly queasy. I step into the rickety compartment and cringe again at the hollow ring of my boots; further enraged, I insist on being the one to turn the wheel.
The Undercity seems to close around us as my frame of vision descends. Light is steadily absorbed until the lower levels reach a terminal murkiness, something that wasn't visible when I took this ride in the night. Lamps and lanterns in green, orange, and red offset it. I feel the air thicken and note that only a minority of the roaming civilians, mostly children, are wearing the gas masks we distributed.
Reading my mind, Ekko detaches his own from his bag and holds it out in offering. "A lot of people don't think it's worth the trouble," he says. "They figure the damage is already done. We're mostly trying to get the next generation in the habit before anything sets in."
I strongly disapprove of that perspective, but I'm not the right person to proselytize to trenchers about public health. "Do they still run the purifiers in their homes?"
"There's pretty good compliance with that. We have our tree at the fort too, so our people are as safe as anyone."
I decline the mask on principle— it makes me think of the afternoon I watched through my uniform visor as that enforcer stuck a rifle against Vi's throat and knocked her to her knees. The lift is clattering to a stop, and I'll have an easier time breathing once I'm out of it.
"Things are so lively down here."
It's not something I mean to say, but not something I worry about either. Ekko looks pleased. "Living in the fissures is a protest in itself," he says. "That's what we used to say. We like to be loud about it."
I take in the sights and smells and sounds and the anonymity that feels secure now instead of sinister. My nerves are mesmerized into silence until we've made our way up to the last turn before the back entrance, at which point I stop and ask, "Are you sure I'm welcome here? After the vote.... I don't want to make anybody uncomfortable."
"All that's cooled down. They'd rather see you still wanting their company than hiding Topside forever."
I nod. "Has Vi finished work yet?"
"I don't know. Comm her if you want."
I reach for my earpiece, then pause. "Actually, I'd rather surprise her."
He smirks. "Even better."
We make the turn. Two guards smile and heave the door open for us, and I follow Ekko into a spill of sun.
Like the last time I was here, hoverboards streak through the air overhead on stripes of green light. Children shout and chatter. Something clangs; something crackles; strains of high-tempo music trickle from somewhere to my right. People wave. A sphinx cat curls between my ankles and scurries off in the direction of the cookfire.
"I've missed this place," I say. "More than I thought."
Ekko sheds his jacket and passes his groceries to Lenara, clapping her arm before she takes off. "We missed you too."
Several more people shout welcomes to me on our way further in; Scar comes all the way up, which I imagine must be promising. We cast around the grounds for Vi, but we don't see her, so Ekko leads me up to the same room she and Jinx stayed in the last time I was here and gives a light knock.
"C'mon in," Vi says drowsily. He goes through the door ahead of me and I hear her start to greet him, then cut off as we come into each other's view. "Caitlyn?"
I'm unexpectedly shy, but only for a moment as Ekko steps out of my way and Vi springs up from the floor, where she appears to have been dozing on a thick book of equations. She catches me in a quick, tight hug and laughs in my ear. Over her shoulder, Ekko gives me a satisfied nod, making me feel as though this really was some special scheme we crafted to make her happy. I laugh too.
"What's this about?" she asks, moving to toss one arm around Ekko. "Did you drag her here?"
"I caught her outside her doctor's appointment."
"I wanted to come," I say.
Vi lets go of him and stretches, elbows locked over her head. "I'm glad you did. You can help wash dishes later. It's me and Powder's day."
I feel a dash of relief and look again at Ekko, who flicks one eyebrow up, still pleased with himself. He deliberately chose today to bring me, remembering my concern about leeching resources.
"I'm gonna do my paperwork," he says. "You can do what you want, but make sure you're down by six."
Vi salutes solemnly, so I do the same, though I can't hide my grin. He rolls his eyes and shuts the door.
Vi stoops to grab her book off the neon-smeared floorboards. The cupcake drawing from an eon ago is a few feet toward the back. "Just magic nonsense," she says, heading off my question. "Powder's interested in it. Thought I'd try to figure out why."
I'm about to request a look when I glimpse the diagrams I drew for her during the ball, taped up above one of the cots— Jinx's, if the monkey scrawled across the bottom sheet is anything to go by. Half of the photographs I gave them are up there too, the other half hung on Vi's wall over a number of crayon hearts.
"You all right over there?" she says. She's sliding the tome into the shelf on the new work table, and I read the word "Arcane" on its spine.
"I just noticed you're displaying the Punnett squares."
"The what? The hair things? Oh." She steps up beside me, footfalls comfortably heavy. "Yeah. I gave them to Powder since she doesn't have as many memories."
"I can redraw them more nicely, if you'd like."
"I like these ones." It's what she said the last time I made the offer too. The torn paper and quick pen lines stand out against the neat edges of the photos in a way I wouldn't be able to tolerate, but it's fitting in this room somehow.
"I didn't realize how much they meant to you," I say.
"I've never had anything like them."
I unstrap my rifle and harness and lay them under Jinx's cot. There are already a number of bomb parts and a roll of striped fabric filling the space, and I saw a couple of new bar lights around that table.
"Is this home now, then?" I ask. "For good?"
"For the foreseeable future, at least." Vi sits down behind me. "That's about as secure as living arrangements get down here."
I turn around. She smiles, arm resting on her bent knee, wrapped fingers loose. It's good to see her so peaceful.
"Any chance you want to take a nap before our shift?" she says.
"I do, actually," I say. "It's been a long day."
"No kidding." She reaches up for her pillow and lays it on the floor. "Ever slept in a dogpile?"
I watch her lie down on right the wood, only her head cushioned. "No," I say. I haven't even slept on a couch on more than a handful of occasions.
"Us kids used to do it all the time. It won't be much of a pile with only the two of us, but just being on the floor will still give you a good part of the experience. C'mere."
I slide over and curve myself into the spoon of her body, laying my head on the pillow where she signaled. It smells of abrasive gray soap and Vi. The press of the hard ground against my contact points is as unpleasant as expected, but the feeling of her arm settling over me and her breath at the back of my neck make it worth it, so long as we don't stay here for more than an hour.
"What was the draw of doing this all the time?" I ask.
"Bonding. Saving space. Being tired but too covered in dirt to get in bed."
I smile at Jinx's half-assembled bombs. Vi finds one of my hands and squeezes it.
"How was your trip down?" she says. The question stirs through my hair. "Were you stressed out?"
"Mildly. But it's best to be reexposed to the site of a traumatic event as soon as possible to keep negative associations from setting in too deeply. You want to override the memory with a new association, like taking the lift to visit you and sleep in a dogpile for the first time."
She squeezes my hand again, fitting our fingers together. "What were you at the doctor for? Your feet?"
"No." I laugh. "My feet are well on the mend. I was having a therapy appointment."
She doesn't respond for a moment, but her fingers stay flexed, so I keep mine flexed too so she knows I'm waiting. "How was it?" she asks.
"Therapy? It went well."
"Did it make you feel better?"
"Not exactly," I say. "I had to recount the events of the abduction, and that spiked my anxiety. You have to survive the hard sessions before you start feeling good when you're done. But it's nice to know that I'm helping myself."
She makes an ambiguous humming sound, gives me one more squeeze, and fades into the barely-perceptible snores that mark her sleep. I do the same.
I wake up, strangely comfortable, after what looks to be twenty or thirty minutes. Diffuse afternoon sun insulates me where Vi's arm has slid off. Napping typically leaves me groggy, but I feel softly, warmly alert as I lift myself from the pillow, turning to check on my still-snoozing littermate.
She's on her back now, her far arm outstretched and the other folded to her chest. What I've seen of her in sleep thus far consists mostly of furrowed brows and squirming— the last time I saw her like this, limbs loose and forehead and jaw relaxed, aside from the time there was a fire outside the window that stole my attention, was when she was delirious with Shimmer poisoning and mistakenly said she loved me. There's a particular beauty to it, different from that of the wakeful spitfire I treasure the most.
I brush a lock of hair from over her eye and study her up close. There's a perfectly centered freckle on the bridge of her nose that's begging to be kissed, but I hold off for now, not wanting to risk rousing her. I touch it imperceptibly instead, and drag my fingertip down to the ink on her neck, over her shoulder, partway down her curled-in arm; my gaze hooks then on the tantalizing pull of its weight on her shirt, the way the fabric shifts upward over her ribcage.
I draw an experimental line across the lowest rib. She doesn't react. The rest that are uncovered, I stroke one by one, climbing higher until caution stops me and moves my hand to her abdomen. Muscles I usually see taut are slack, and stay that way even when I begin tracing the carved spaces between them— her body moves only with her deep breathing. I run the backs of my fingers along the crescent curve of her waist, relishing bare skin. One half-exposed pelvic bone slides against the pad of my thumb. It's only when I turn my affections to the gnarled stabbing scar on her right side that she goes rigid, shocking my hand away, and blearily but intensely says, "Don't do that."
"Oh— I'm sorry." I scoot over to align with her pillow, pulled from the absorption of my exploration like a fish from water. "Does it hurt?"
"No." Her head drops down, her posture loosening, and she rubs a squinted eye. "It's just not... my best feature."
"I didn't realize you were self-conscious about your scars." In that case, I would have expected her to hide them, as Jinx did when she came back from Stillwater.
"I'm not," Vi says, pointing her stockinged toes in a stretch. I noticed her boots left by the door when I came in— whether she's adopted the practice for real or just hasn't broken the habit yet, I find it adorable. "Around you, it's just— at least that one— I don't know. I don't like you touching it."
"That's fine," I say. "I won't do it again."
She pats my knee and pushes up to her elbows. "Looks like we could keep sleeping a little longer, if you want."
I'm unable to move on. "You've never seemed to mind me touching the ones on your face."
She gives a quiet scoff, sitting up all the way, and botches an attempt at lightness: "Those didn't come from losing a fight."
It's odd to remember that first evening, tracking down an impertinent pink-haired convict who had just ditched me in a brothel only to discover her in the middle of a brawl. Registering that I was about to watch her die. Finding myself inexplicably compelled to intervene, despite my infuriation, and doing it. Everything happened so quickly.
I look again at the drawings and the photos on her walls.
"You shouldn't think of it as you losing a fight," I say. "You should think of it as the both of us winning a fight."
Her lips quirk at one corner. "You're generous."
"It's true."
"I came out of it with a fatal injury."
"But which of you ran away?"
A pause. She laughs triumphantly, gives me a peck on the mouth, and stands, offering me a hand up. "Let's go bug Ekko."
Once her boots are on, we go over to his treehouse and knock. As she assured me, he's finished with his Council work and is fidgeting with a windcatcher at his desk, looking miles away.
"You busy?" asks Vi, sitting on his cot. I stand by the door uncertainly. The last time I was in this room, the city was on the brink of civil war, and I had just given up my old life for good because of a flash of pity for a stranger. Thank God I did.
"No," Ekko says, and I notice when I look back at him that there's a bright box of oil crayons among his tools and gadgets. He follows my gaze and freezes.
I march over to sit on the bed next to Vi. She focuses on me, and the next time I look, the box is gone and Ekko's facing us as nonchalantly as anything, but shoots me a millisecond's glance of acknowledgement.
"You guys want to go downstairs?" he says.
"Sure," says Vi.
"Could we—"
They turn to me, and I break off the thoughtless sentence at once. Ekko raises his eyebrows. I swallow, embarrassed.
"Well, I was just going to ask if we could look at the photographs," I say. "The ones from your childhood that you mentioned at the ball."
They look at each other.
"Please feel free to say no," I add. "I don't mean to put you on the spot."
"No," Ekko says slowly, and waits for a nod from Vi. "It's okay. We can look at them."
"We should wait for Powder," Vi says.
"No," says Ekko. "You can show her some other time, but I'm not gonna be there."
Vi thinks, then nods again, straightening from her slouch. I fold my hands. Ekko sorts through a cluttering of boxes and folders beside his desk until he comes up with a small wooden case, sanded and closed with dull metal clasps.
"I haven't seen these since I put them in here," he says, pulling his chair over in front of us. Vi's toe taps. I peer nervously from one tense frown to the other as Ekko flips the clasps open and lifts the uneven lid.
The pictures lie upside-down at the bottom of the box. He takes them in careful fingers and turns them over, fanning them out so that Vi and I can see all three.
Two contain what looks to be their entire family, arranged around a bar and in some outdoor space, respectively. "Vander, Benzo, Mylo, and Claggor," Vi says, pointing. I realize what should have already been obvious: they're the other faces on the mural in the center with young Vi and Powder. "That first one's from maybe a year after we got there," she says. "The other's from half a year before... everything."
I had assumed Benzo was Ekko's biological father, but the beaming man Vi indicates bears no resemblance to the tiny, cherubic boy who clings to his shirt in the first photo and waves from atop his shoulders in the second.
"Were you a war orphan too?" I ask, feeling a pinch behind my clavicle.
Ekko nods. "Me and them both tried to go out to the bridge."
The pinch sharpens as I hone in on eleven-year-old Vi, tousled and grinning with Vander's big hand on her narrow shoulder. In her teens, she wore her hair pushed back instead of swept forward; she had filled out a bit, but was still lanky, without the muscle definition she has now. I try to imagine her leading a raid in Jayce's apartment, and the mischief in her smirk makes it easy.
The subject that truly takes my breath, though, is Powder.
At six, she had a stubby braid at the side of her head and dirt smudged on one plump cheek, and she's adhered to Vi's side like a little monkey. In the next image, she's under Vi's arm, so scrawny I can almost see through her. Her bangs are choppy and uneven, messier than in her mural portrait; a single braid peeks out from behind her back, and loose locks on the sides are full of gold clips, some serving no apparent purpose at all besides decoration. Her big eyes are both silver-blue, her pouty lips drawn into an unguarded smile.
"When was the last picture taken?" I ask.
"Her birthday," Ekko says.
Only he and Powder are in this one: round-faced and laughing, they have their arms tangled around each other and their temples pressed together. Ekko has a familiar white hourglass on his face, while Powder has a pink bar across each cheekbone— they both have paint guns, cookware on their heads like helmets, and adhesive bandages on their arms, hearts drawn on in crayon. There's a closeness between them that's hard to conceive.
"Wow," Vi mutters.
"Yeah," says Ekko, hooking his ankle around hers.
"You were—" I begin tentatively, and again, they look to me, and again, I bite my tongue.
Vi, with those slender arms, her lip and eyebrow unscarred, locked up for life for the crime of poverty. Ekko, the baby of the pack, left to survive on his own with only toy weapons and silent feet. And sweet, sensitive Powder, carrying a kill count before she could even reach the top shelf.
"You were very young," I finally say, and they both exhale, heads hanging. Ekko sniffs.
"If you wanted," I add after another moment, "I could have copies made of these. Or I could tell you how to have them made yourselves."
They converse wordlessly. Ekko sets the photographs back into their case, does the latches, and offers it to me in two quivering hands, a subtle nod contrasting strangely with the hard set of his mouth and forehead.
"Thanks," he says.
I accept the box in both of my own hands, also unsteady, and draw it to my chest— not a gesture of respect, but a genuine impulse, as though I mean to hold their past selves by holding their pictures. "You're more than welcome."
He nods again and pushes to his feet. Vi links our arms and pulls me up too as I tuck the case into my belt, and we make our way to the ground together.
"Jinx!" Vi calls, and the blue-braided girl who surfaces from the direction of the front entrance gives me whiplash after the short time spent looking at little Powder. She's lugging a backpack and a smaller bag in one hand, and she goes from surprised at the sight of me to stricken at the sight of Ekko. Ekko looks equally stricken.
"Clotstech filters," she says, holding out the bag. He takes it with an appreciative grunt.
Vi glances curiously between them, so I hurry to say, "Hello, Jinx. I came to help you two with the dishes."
"Why?" she says. "We can handle it."
"She's just here to see us," Vi says, squeezing Jinx's arm exasperatedly. Jinx adopts a knowing expression and is about to speak when Ekko says, "I'm sitting with Scar and them today, so I'll catch you guys later."
Vi's curiosity renews at his tension, but she leaves it and we all go down the food counter with the rest of the line, splitting off into our two groups at the end. I tell the girls about the Council meeting between bites, and Vi tells us about the endeavors of the digging crew (Walker fell into a pit), and we ask Jinx for her stories too, but she's evasive to the point of hunching her shoulders in defense. I'm just as confused as Vi about that one— I don't know why a failed affair last night would make her reluctant to talk about today— but neither of us presses.
When we're finished eating, we get set up at the auxiliary water pump. Everybody washes the plates and utensils they used on their own, while we're responsible for the cookware and all the serving dishes that aren't being stored for later, so I end up exchanging "Hello"s with tons more people when they come through. I even meet Rune and get to thank her for the necklace she carved. My mood soars.
Conversely, Jinx winds herself up further throughout the shift until, after we've placed the last tray on the drying rack and put away the towels, she turns to me and urgently asks, "Can we go shooting?"
I'm taken aback, but not displeased. "Sure," I say. "I can rent us an hour at the shooting range—"
"I want to go today. Now."
I look to Vi. She shrugs.
"I need to burn off some energy," Jinx grumbles.
I'm tired out from the meeting and the shift, but I'd hate to shut her down so early into our truce, especially when she's so stressed. "I don't have a gun or ammo for you," I say.
"I have some," she says.
"Then let's do it."
I run up to their room to grab my rifle and close the photo case into a pocket on the harness while I'm at it. On the ground, I find Vi with Ekko, Jinx having gone off to the weapons arsenal, and let them know that I plan to head home from the range, assuming it's safe for Jinx to make the trip back alone. They're dubious.
"You'd probably better bring someone from here," Ekko says. I look to Vi.
"I'll make sure Powder's cool with it," she says.
I turn to Ekko as she sets off, and he's the first one to aim for a hug. I accept it gladly.
"Thank you for having me," I say.
"Stay the night sometime."
The sound of his grin makes me grin too. "Sometime."
Vi and Jinx wait for me at the door. We make our way to the lift, where I find the ascent much easier than the descent, and across the bridge, Vi and I chatting and people-watching while Jinx's knuckles glow white on her pistol.
The range is empty on our arrival. I pay the toll and lead them to the field; Jinx promptly bolts to turn all the machines to their most difficult settings, and Vi sticks beside me at a slower pace, letting me spill out the same ramble I gave Jinx the first time. She brings up their old arcade with a tinge of nostalgia.
It takes a good ten minutes of silent shooting for Jinx to begin to look approachable. I give it another five minutes after that to be certain, and make sure to speak when she's reloading and my firing is too loud for Vi, sitting off to the side and watching each bullet, to hear anything.
"Are you sure you don't want to talk about what's the matter?" I ask.
Her easy posture goes stiff. "Yes," she says, and cocks her pistol and shoots through a swinging target, all while maintaining eye contact.
"Understood." I look away myself to take the pressure off her. "You know, you can always ask me to take you here if you need an outlet. If I'm able, I will."
She huffs and spins blindly to hit the target again. Vi watches with alarm, then approval.
"You really are desperate for a gun buddy, huh, toots?" Jinx says.
"I'd like one, yes."
She shakes her head, but she's distinctly more relaxed than she was when we started.
We take a water break after another ten minutes. Vi sits a little closer to us on the grass and studies our weapons and our hands.
"I haven't seen you shoot for fun before," she tells me. "You're really good."
My cheeks warm a bit. "Thank you."
"And I haven't seen you shoot for fun since you were little, Jinx. You've gotten even better."
Jinx preens.
"What about you?" I ask Vi. "What are your hobbies?"
"Kicking ass."
"Yes, but besides that."
"Getting ready to kick ass," she says, flashing her teeth. Jinx snickers.
"Try to think outside that box," I say patiently.
"Getting my ass kicked by other people?"
Jinx flops onto her back, boneless with mirth. Vi pats my ankle, something pensive burning beneath her lightness.
"I used to draw," she says.
"Yeah? You were both artists?"
She nods. Jinx sits up and they exchange a glance I can't parse beyond its gentle mourning. I decide against asking what's stopped her— Jinx is overflowing with crayons at all hours of the day, so she's made a deliberate choice.
"C'mon," Jinx says, grabbing her pistol off the grass, where I warned her not to leave it. Unsurprisingly, I spot a chunk of dirt stuck to the muzzle and have to hurry to my feet after her.
"You need to be using your harness, darling. You're going to cause a blockage." I take the gun and clear the dirt with a finger, not stopping to question why she gave it up so easily until I'm handing it back and notice her staring at me with moon-sized eyes. Perplexed, I look over my shoulder at Vi, only to find her doing the same thing.
I flush again, this time in a bad way.
Darling.
I don't know how it came out. I wasn't consciously thinking it before I spoke. Perhaps it was the photographs, or perhaps it was her request to come down today, but whatever it was, calling Jinx a pet name at all, let alone the one I grew up hearing, must cross an unspeakable number of lines.
I wait for a moment, mortified, deciding how to approach my apology. The girls beat me to it: Vi turns her gaze to the targets, and Jinx takes the pistol and lightly pushes my hand away.
"Sheesh," she says, aiming without a glance. "Don't nag me, you old crone. Quickest way to lose a gun buddy."
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Intro lyrics from "Innocent" by Taylor Swift.
big one today!!! they're all such great friends