A/N:
This story used to be identified as the third installment of the Helford Series. However, after careful thought, I am instead making this more of a spin-off of the original story than an extension (thus also emphasizing that this installment is not necessary to read to enjoy the full series, as PG has a full ending).
This story takes place after the events in Playing God. Please read Toy Soldiers and Playing God before reading this story.
Thank you for being awesome, friends.
xo Riley
~*~
"Are you sure you're ready for this?"
"Why wouldn't I be?" I drawled as I gazed into the mirror at the gray suit I had selected for court, my old black one shoved into a trash bag since the moment after Caitie's funeral. I straightened my tie absentmindedly, too caught up in remembering a coffin that would always be empty, dread gripping at my chest. I cleared my throat. "I'm here. I'm going."
"That's not a very good reason," Meade pointed out, gazing up at me from where he was hanging upside-down from the hotel bed. He observed my expression through the mirror for a moment before pressing carefully, "Her funeral was only a month ago."
"Hers and Parker's," I responded instantly, probably helping my case not at all. "Are you trying to tell me that I'm not coping?"
"Well," Meade said, "you're not."
"And staying at a shooting range for hours at a time is your idea of healthy coping?"
Meade shrugged mildly, not seeing what I could see. His eyes were empty now, dull, emotionless. The last I had seen of life in them was the cold horror that had been reflected back at me when we watched Caitie burn.
"At least I'm trying to," Meade replied mildly, studying the pattern of the carpet-a hideous shade of blue, with flower-like white designs repeating in elaborate swirls throughout. Meade's eyes suddenly flashed up, meeting my gaze, as he challenged, "Are you?"
Normally, I would have at least taken the time to consider his inquiry. But we both knew the obvious answer, so I turned to look him straight in the eye and announced, "No."
Meade nodded like finally, this was something he could work with. Because, somehow, in the last few weeks, Meade and I have begun to understand each other. As if we both joined some secret club for people who had lost what meant all to them, and with the welcome care package came a Vulcan mind-meld.
In the last months since we had met, Meade and I were less like friends and more like reluctant teenagers paired for a science project. He loathed me at the beginning, which I realized after some new information that he disliked me primarily because Caitie chose to save my life over his brother's-and Meade's negative outward reactions in my favor was enough for me to keep him at arm's reach. He had been Caitie's friend, and Rian's ghost.
And then we had left Caitie and Valerie behind, and Meade made it into the open air and took a long breath, and then he had told me that he hoped I may one day forgive him for what we had to do next.
I did. And I didn't.
I guess my emotions weren't as subtle as I had intended them to be, because Meade was reading them off my face like they were written into the Rosetta Stone.
"For what it's worth, I think it's a bad idea, you going to these trials," Meade informed me honestly, leaning forward and looking at me like a disappointed parent. "Helford isn't as much of your business as you think it is."
"Helford has destroyed my life."
"Helford has made your life hell, but do not misguide yourself-you still have a life. You do not have your own trial. You do not have everything left to lose."
I looked at Meade. Something broken looked back.
"Do you honestly think they will find you guilty?" I demanded, taken aback by the onslaught of Meade's helplessness. I was not used to seeing soldiers without their strength.
Meade laughed loudly, bitterly. His eyes were filled with numb misery. "Jonathon," he said. "You have no idea the blood on my hands, the things I'll have to admit to when I'm on that stand-if you knew even half of them, you would not believe in me. You would testify against me."
"I've forgiven Caitie for things more personal."
"Yeah, well-that's Caitie."
If anyone else would have said it, I would have assumed that they would have meant it romantically, but Meade spoke another language, and sometimes I even understood it. This was Meade's way of being afraid.
I didn't say anything. I didn't need to, because Meade said, "If my guilt were to be weighed as my soul against a feather, I would never see the sunlight again."
"And you accuse me," I murmured, "of not being able to cope."
Meade didn't say anything.
"I know that you do not know where you will be in a few months," I told him, barely able to comprehend understanding what it must feel like to possibly be able to count your remaining days of freedom in double-digit numbers. "I get that, okay, and I can't tell you what way they will lean. I won't even lie to you and act like they would never in a million years find you guilty. But you're trapping yourself in a cage with no bars, man. You're shooting at paper targets because at least you can pretend to blame them, but, right now, you are your own worst enemy, and you won't be free until you let yourself be."
I didn't like the look in Meade's eyes. It was something more than anger.
"I've heard you talking to her," Meade announced, finding the chink in my armor and driving the blade straight through. "I've heard you talking to her. Like you think she can hear you. You have to know that's not totally normal, man. But you're still flying over oceans to go to the trial for the man she died to kill?"
"I didn't ask you for your opinion," I growled, my jaw clenching to compliment the turning in my stomach, my blood boiling. "I need to go to these trials for closure."
"Closure isn't real, not in their world," Meade argued angrily, vaulting to his feet. "All that happens is you keep finding out more, and more, and more, until it goddamn crushes you. And Caitie Alastair? You'll never learn everything. You'll never understand the whole truth. And the weight of that will kill you. It will tear you apart until there is nothing left."
"You hate Caitie," I said slowly, "because of Rian."
Meade flinched when I said his brother's name but didn't agree or disagree, knowing that, if he gave even an inch, I would take a mile. "Don't expect anything from this world," Meade told me, "because then you'll just let yourself down."
I didn't know how to reply to that, which made Valerie's timing so perfect; instead of knocking, or just anything that normal people did when they didn't have a key, she just walked through the door and straight into our argument, holding no sign of what may have granted her access. She was wearing a yellow shirt and black slacks, and her cheeks were thinner every time I saw her. She was so pale. She was hanging by a thread.
I felt like, for Parker and Caitie's sake, I should be trying to save her. And then I remembered that she is Caitie's sister, that she accepts assistance in the same unwilling fashion, and I have to remind myself that no one will ever be able to help Valerie if she doesn't want them to.
She looked in between us with raised eyebrows, obviously knowing that her timing was remarkable, because she simply just turned to me and demanded, "Ready to go?"
"As I will ever be," I told her honestly, and Meade watched us leave, his eyes unfathomable, and I held his gaze as the door swung shut behind us, locking us out and him in, the same way he believed it always would be.
"He gonna be okay?" Valerie asked, looking to the door.
"I don't know," I answered as honestly as I could, and Valerie knew about that kind of uncertainty, because all she did was nod and turn away, heading to the elevators, her chin raised as if she was expecting to walk into a war.
For a second, I just stared at her. And then I followed behind.
~*~*~*~
There were cameras, and protestors. Getting into the courthouse for one of the biggest conspiracies this world has ever known, to be able to sit in on the trials and see the information in real time, was always going to be nightmarish. Once we were inside, though, standing in front of it all with masks of wariness and preparedness for the oncoming storm, the first inevitable verdict, I must have looked as green as Valerie.
My father was waiting for us outside of the chamber, his face drawn shut and a briefcase clutched in one hand. He looked as exhausted as I felt, running on probably just as much sleep. Helford trials were beginning all over the world on this dreaded day but, to us and to the media, the importance of Shawn Masterson's was exponential. To us, this one mattered more out of all of them. This was the one that might bring us our closure.
I thought about what Meade had said, what he believed that closure meant, and then I shoved all thought of it away.
My father appraised me as I approached, his eyes guarded. "I wasn't sure you were going to come."
"You and everyone else, apparently," I replied, frowning. "Are we ready to go in?"
"First, I want you both to listen to me for a second," my father said, taking care to catch mine and Valerie's eyes. "Do not speak up. Do not make a noise. You both must be stoic, no matter what they throw around in there. This national security breach is international, and all eyes are going to be on this room for the next several hours, possibly even days if that is what it takes, and I will not tolerate one of you making headlines because you couldn't handle your emotions and you made a disruption. Are we clear?"
There were moments I loved my dad. Those moments were becoming less and less frequent, to the point that I was standing in front of my father now, and I didn't even know who he was anymore.
"Fine," I breathed through my teeth, fists clenching. "Thank you for the etiquette lesson. Finished?"
My father's eyes flashed in the way that they always did when he didn't like my attitude, but he didn't scold me for it, because we had come too far in life for him to ever just think I'm his son that needs looking after. He knew that I wasn't just a child, a pawn, that he could move to whichever square he chose.
We had both realized where the other stood when we fought the night of Caitie's funeral. My hands tightened into fists just at the thought of it.
"Let's get this over with," Valerie stated firmly, and the three of us walked united through the doors of the Washington D.C. hearing room.