Chapter Text
Kate felt like she was vibrating. There was too much to do and yet there was never enough. It was an odd feeling, different from her usual hyper.
She felt like a fairy, flitting about the Benedict house (but it wasn’t just the Benedicts living there, was it.. the Benedict-Wetherall-Muldoon-Perumal-Washington house? But there’s Moocho too… eh, he’s practically a Wetherall. The Bentheralldoonmalton house. That one). It was relatively easy to keep busy in a large, odd home. Random shit broke all the time, and she was by far the handiest with tools, followed by her dad, so she took it upon herself to be the resident handyman. It kept her hands full. Made her feel like she had utility.
But it was quickly becoming clear that the fix-it fairy was too good at her job. The House With Too Long A Name was nearly spotless, and repaired to the point of near perfection. Kate was running out of things to do, things to lose herself in. She was running, sprinting really, but from what she couldn’t say. Or rather, wouldn’t say. If she kept going at breakneck speed, she could outrun it, her nameless fears and guilts, she was sure of it- she just needed to keep going.
So, she just kept going.
Some of the most memorable past times she chose weren’t even that helpful or impactful, they just made her laugh. One afternoon, while the rest of the Society was out on errands, Kate hid Constance’s chocolate stash by elaborately disguising the bag inside a container that, to the untrained eye, looked to be nothing more than pickled beets. When they returned, Kate had watched from afar with sick delight- not unlike that of a teasing older sibling- as the younger girl went to her tried and true chocolate stash. Didn’t find a thing. Her eyes had booshed out of their sockets, like one of those tree frogs with the bugsy faces that made Kate cry laughing at 3 in the morning. And just like then, Kate rolled over on her back, and absolutely lost it. Constance had gone delightfully purple in the face. The tantrum that followed was hell-razing, but the moment of pure delight was (at least sort of) worth it.
Another afternoon, on a rainy day, Kate was hanging upside down from her lofted bed. The boys were sitting on the floor playing chess. (She was only sort of paying attention, but she thought Sticky was winning.) Hanging above, she looked below, and suddenly it dawned on her just how long Reynie’s hair had become. He had decided to let it grow out for a while- see if it looked less boring, made him look like he was in a boy band, what have you. She admired the way it framed his face, with side-swept bangs at the top and the length covering his neck with a slight, cute curliness on the ends. It dawned on her that his hair was a perfectly delightful length to play with, and in no time at all Reynie’s head was covered in little braids and twists of all kinds. A tiny Dutch braid on the side, his bangs elaborately twisted up into a clip, a delightfully tiny fishtail in the back, the whole shabang. Reynie, who was only mildly surprised (and thoroughly amused), knew to just finish playing chess and let it happen. Sticky won the game, but Reynie won the salon treatment.
Before long, everyone in the house (aside from Constance, who hid impressively when motivated, and Sticky, who had grown fond of his baldness) had some form of Kate’s handiwork to show off. Dinner that evening was a proper stylist’s showcase.
Even days like those, days filled with laughter and the best kind of business, couldn’t stop the emotional spiral she had been desperately running from. Not that she would ever admit it, but it was weighing on her. It was starting to slow her down.
The nights were the hardest.
By the time the budding busybody’s head hit the pillow at night, she was perfectly exhausted, but she knew getting to sleep wasn’t the problem. Staying asleep was. As Mr. Benedict had so often lamented, nightmares make for a restless night. And so they did for Kate tonight.
-
Kate was crouched, cornered. Desert sands under her feet, steep cliffs at her back. McCracken in her front, slowly and proudly closing in. He held her bucket in the air, swinging it on a finger like a child’s plaything. He donned an easy smile. “What will you do now, little duckling?” Surely other Ten Men were lying in wait nearby, waiting for his signal to strike.
What would she do? She didn’t know. She threw her head up in defiance and tried to conjure some spunk anyway. “Takes a duckling to know one!” Fake it till you make it, right?
She was suddenly aware of Milligan crouched beside her. Had he been there this whole time?
McCracken was taking his good old time advancing, relishing in his apparent victory. Slowly but surely, Kate and Milligan were being forced to move closer to the cliffside.
“Go while you still can, Katie-Cat, I’m his target. I’ll be fine, just go!” He muttered it, just loud enough for her to hear. Where was his tranquilizer gun?
And in that moment, she realized two equally horrifying things: that they were backed up to the cliff’s edge, and that they were both unarmed.
It all happened so fast.
McCracken pounced. Milligan shoved Kate out of the way, hard. She rolled, caught herself, and looked up just in time to see Milligan the worst- McCracken clocking Milligan with a hard kick to the face.
She could only watch in horror as her father fell over the cliffside.
-
Kate started awake, gasping.
Fumbling for her bucket on the nightstand, Kate white-knuckled her flashlight, flicked it on, and held her breath. Watching. Waiting. Listening. No one else in the room. No one else made a sound.
Fisting the blanket and pulling it up to her chin, Kate rolled onto her side and curled in on herself, gulping in air. She tried to remember Mr. Benedict’s advice; for when her nightmares had made their startling debut, it was he who had her back at her most vulnerable hour. It was he who had found her, on the ground after thrashing out of bed, desperately gasping for breath.
On that eventful night, the busy man was up late working on some project or other, but had taken a break to get himself and Number Two some brain food. But on the way to the kitchen, he had heard a rustling from above, a troubling thump, a sinister silence- it gave him pause. He had followed the noise, followed his intuition, followed his worry- and so he had found Kate.
She desperately thought back to Mr. Benedict’s tips- closed eyes and deep, low breaths. Then- and only when she felt ready- five things she could see, four things she could touch, three things she could hear, two things she could smell, and one thing she could taste. Grounding, he had called it. Her breathing slowly but surely evened out. It helped, even if only a little.
But where was Milligan?
She felt like a child, going to her dad’s room after a nightmare, but she wouldn’t wake him. I just want to check on him, she thought. I don't need to, but maybe he'll... need some water or something. Yeah.
And so she pranced down the hallway towards her father’s bedroom, dodging the creaking boards on the floor as fast as she could while maintaining silence. To an onlooker, it might have looked like she was dancing with a ghost. The thought brought a soft smile to her face.
Kate stopped at her father’s door, taking a deep breath. She just wanted to check that he was okay, that he was sleeping, that he wasn’t in visible pain. She just wanted to see him.
She definitely hadn’t done this every night this week. Nope. Couldn’t be her.
She twisted the doorknob and ever-so-gently, nudged the door open. Just enough to stick her face in. For a second she merely listened, indulging her anxieties to listen for her dad’s breathing. It was the slow, even breathing of a man asleep. Relief flooded her body, nearly drowning her. She poked her head in a little further, braving a look towards his bed.
He seemed comfortable enough, with all the pillows and blankets and propped up limbs. Kate couldn’t quite make out his face, but seeing his relaxed form under the blankets gave a suitable amount of satisfaction. He was asleep. He was peaceful. He was okay.
She could so easily climb into bed with him, nestle herself in the crook of his arm, and maybe, just maybe, find some peace for the rest of the night; but that was selfish and she knew it. Milligan would surely wake up, in pain from the inevitable jostling, but his sweet soul wouldn’t dare complain with cuddles on the line.
Resigning herself and losing the door, Kate scolded herself for turning his pain into something about her. What kind of daughter could be so vain? To think that she could even consider her own comfort a priority, when her father was in and out of a doctor’s care? When his injuries were because of her screwing up in the field?
She left as quickly as she had come.
And that was the painful reality of Milligan’s plight- it was her fault. She pushed him onto the roof. She let herself get cornered. She was the reason he jumped. Kate had been watching her own back since before she remembered, but the one time it had really, truly mattered, she failed. And her dad was paying the price.
What a sickening feeling.