Chapter Text
THE FIRST night was the roughest, which almost goes without saying.
If asked (though no one would), Silco couldn’t recount exactly how he and his crew returned to their secondary base, a ratty hole-in-the-wall he paid for as a just-in-case that, surprise surprise, he needed to use.
Faunt carried Sevika, alive but groggy. Wrent and Eelae followed behind him. And Silco spent the trip with his arms wrapped around a little girl who clung monkey-like to his chest, unable to let go.
The route they took, how fast they went, who they talked to or passed by or who saw them - none of that stuck. What DID stick was the little peeping noises the girl made, the little whimpers and cries, muffled into his chest. Whenever he entertained the idea of that’s enough and moving to set her down, every time, the fingers clenched into the back of his vest spasmed in the fabric and she clutched tighter, her legs squeezing his ribcage.
All right, all right. That’s fine. He could carry her. Didn’t make much difference to him.
It made delegating to his remaining (present. There were always more) assistants a little bit more difficult. Eelae kept glancing at the girl on his chest instead of looking at him when he spoke, though her name said in a sharp enough tone got her over it fast enough, and Wrent followed along after her, as usual. Good.
By the time he stumped up the half-flight of stairs to what served as “his” office and quarters - though he only had the basics, which is fine, he’s built himself up from worse - he was so exhausted he was taking them one at a time.
“You’re not helping,” he said lightly, eyes up, drumming his fingers once on her back. She didn’t reply, but she didn’t cry more, so he took it as a win.
There were no spectacular views here, no horrifying creatures of the deep or even a nice mural - the small window opened up into a brick wall across an alley, four feet away. The light was murky, murkier than he had been accustomed to - and he bit at himself in his mind that he had let himself grow soft. Let himself -
The little girl at his chest clenched up and shook again. He looked down, sighed deeply, and smoothed his hair back with one hand. He sank down onto one knee, his arms unspooling from around her. She held onto him just fine with her own strength - a fact that made him stifle an amused snort. He could have saved himself the effort of holding her up, he guessed.
“Do you want to know where you are?”
There was a long pause. It could be the murkiness, or the quiet, or the fact that they were alone - whatever it was, he felt the girl’s grip relax. She pulled back, chest rising and falling with quick breaths, her eyes luminous as they darted around.
“It’s temporary,” he said quickly, his lip curling with distaste as he matched her gaze. What did this place used to be? Some kind of vehicle dealership? What it was now was musty and barren and, well, no fitting place for someone like him to stay. When she looked back at him, he gave a little one-shoulder shrug. “It’s not a good safe house if people expect you to be there, is it?”
A one-note laugh, closer to a reflective tic, and she sniffled again, hard. He didn’t need to look to know the front of his vest was soaked.
“Do you see the second door on the right?”
Another nod.
“That’s the bathroom. Go and wash up.”
“Wh- No - ” her tiny, desperate voice came immediately, continuing to protest under his calming tone.
“It’s fine. It’s fine. I won’t be going anywhere. I’ll be right here.”
“Y-you - you you you - you - ?”
“Promise?” he finished for her after watching her fumble to start the sounds, nerves taking over again, frayed and about to snap. She swallowed hard against the beginnings of the gulping breaths that accompanied sobs. Of course, already cried out.
“Yes,” he continued, exhaling into a little sigh. “I promise.”
She didn’t seem completely convinced. One more push -
“If I’m lying, you can shoot me.”
It was impulsive, and probably not the right move - the instant he had the thought, though, her eyes sharpened and she let go of him abruptly, falling hard back onto the floor. She kept that serious look on her face as she picked herself up and stalked to the bathroom, slipping inside.
Silco stood and sighed deeply. The three or four steps to the chair behind the desk took far, far longer than they should have, and he didn’t sit so much as perform a targeted collapse into the chair, sending up a cloud of dust.
For fuck sake, he thought in blind, numb disbelief. On top of every single other thing that’s gone on today, he’d have to remember to have someone stabbed for taking his money every month and then not cleaning the fucking office he paid them to clean.
Another inappropriate laugh bubbled up behind his lips as he just… blinked to himself. Unbelievable. Unbelievable. The cherry on top.
Can’t get good help nowadays, can ya?
The familiar voice rang faintly in his ear, overlaid and undercut by his screaming, his roar, and with a spasmed jerk of his own Silco’s fist hit the desk once, hard. His hand raised, twitching, and he carefully brought it to his face, leaning into it with another slow, careful exhale.
Silco didn’t bother to look up at the slow footsteps coming up the stairs, pushing open the half-closed door. Wrent, probably, though they didn’t quite sound like -
“Fauntleroy said you picked up a kid?”
Silco’s hand slowly dropped, his head lifting.
“Sevika,” he said, not bothering to keep the muted surprise from his voice.
His enforcer dropped heavily into a smaller chair across from his desk, her blackened, dead limb twisted away from him. His eyes flickered back up to her face.
“I told him to take you to get patched up,” he said, leaning back in his chair. He took his time opening each drawer, slow and smooth.
“Yeah, well, I heard something so stupid I had to stop by here first to check if that explosion didn’t give you brain damage.”
His eyes sharpened and snapped up to her so quickly it sucked all the air out of the room. Immediately recognizing her mistake, she lifted up her hand to ward him off.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry.”
Silco exhaled, his hackles lowering, and they shared a glance, just briefly. They’ve known each other for a good quarter of a century. He can pinpoint the bruise on his ribcage that came from her smacking him back behind her, undoubtedly saving his life and costing her her arm - he knows and she knows that. She gets one.
“... oh,” Sevika said lightly, reaching to her waist. “Here.”
A glint in the air, an audible ring as the spark cut through the air, catching all the light in the room. A blade - the blade, held out to him. With a somewhat-clumsy flick of the wrist, the wrapped handle faced him instead.
“You dropped this.”
His eye darted between the handle and Sevika once or twice, his expression largely schooled into stillness but exhaustion kept the mask from being complete.
Right. Vague memories of a faint metallic ping behind him, his hand suddenly empty - but then within seconds, far too full. The weight of a child is far greater than the weight of the river, of the flames, of the steel.
“Thank you,” he said lightly, dipping his head back down so he could peer into another drawer. He bent, his muscles screaming, and snagged a bottle half-full of greenish-amber liquid. When he lifted it high, Sevika took one look and furrowed her brow hard, mouth pulled back in a grimace.
“Suit yourself,” he said, giving the smallest head shake and grabbing one glass, just for him.
He poured out a finger, then decided to make it three. Over the quiet sounds of the glass, the bottle, the drink, Sevika spoke again.
“Silco,” she said, and despite his eyes flicking to her, she continued. “What’s the plan? Really.”
“It’s not anything for you to worry about,” he said, one arm lightly crossed over his chest, his elbow supported by his other fist as he toyed the rim of the glass at his lips. “You focus on healing, I’ll focus on seizing this opportunity. Just a minor setback -”
“I mean about the girl.”
Silco stopped. He slowly tilted his head, crow-like, his brows knitting together.
“I’m sorry. Have I given you the impression that I wanted your input?”
“You should,” Sevika said, leaning forward. Her dead arm shifted forward, too, and her grimace of pain didn’t stop her words, hot and focused. “Look. I’ve watched Vander for years. Years with these kids. They slowed him down, that one most of all.” Her head craned back, an almost-soundless click of her tongue. “I don’t need to tell you that.”
She didn’t.
“Enough,” Silco muttered. The building settled around them, a little creak of a rusty hinge. Sevika’s voice carried above it, but the whine made Silco’s bad eye twitch.
“I came to you because you were willing to do what Vander wasn’t. He changed, you didn’t. And now?”
“Sevika.”
“We don’t need strays,” she snapped. “We don’t have the time for you to take care of some mongrel pup. Drop her off at Hope House and get your fucking head clear-”
The glass in his hand slammed on the desk, fractures splitting across it like lightning.
“ENOUGH!”
Two old friends stared at each other across the table, the echo of his roar ringing through the room.
Sevika’s lip curled again, her hooded eyes more shadowed than ever. Silco was still, too still, his injured eye stinging, stinging, stinging.
“Go,” Silco said, quietly and carefully, “to the medic on Bonsoir Street. Go. And get patched up. He should know to expect you.”
A dismissal if there ever was one. She was rougher than she needed to be when she stood, agitation jerking her arm and heavying her hand, but she paid herself back enough with the pain that clearly jerked through her body. She stomped to the door -
“Sevika?”
She stopped, took a breath, turned her head over her shoulder. Silco stared her down, unblinking.
“Thank you,” he said, and meant it.
“That will be all,” he said, and meant it more.
Sevika sniffed, dipped her head, and walked out, her retreating footsteps fading into the sounds of the Lanes waking up, the bustle leaking in through the little window. It’s full daylight now, isn’t it, for what passes for it down here? Must be.
Silco exhaled, shifting in his chair, eye slipping shut for a moment too long to count as a blink. Just resting it. Just for a breath. His injured eye, its orange iris looking at nothing, still saw vague shapes, movements, figures deep underwater. He saw a series of swatches shift into the light.
He opened his eye and straightened, looking back at the girl.
They regarded each other - both wary, he realized, but vulnerable. I’m trusting you. I’m doing it on purpose. Would you reward my loyalty?
Well. It was clear where he stood on that.
Another beat, then he sighed and rocked forward, rising on aching feet and screaming muscles. Her eyes followed him up. With this light, with these nerves, with the growing racket inside and out - no sleep today. Not yet.
With another haggard sigh, he swung his legs forward, his normal swagger made honest by fatigue. “Come on… - “
He paused, looking down at her, blinking in realization.
“Huh. Now what is it they call you?”
Under his scrutiny, her fragile wariness broke down, brittle edges beginning to dissolve into little tears once again. He can see her throat close up, see her fight against it, see her win enough to speak.
“A jinx. She called me a jinx.”
“Jinx, is it?”
At his soft voice, she darted at him again, thankfully not leaping on him (he wasn’t positive he could have kept to his feet) this time. He caught her against his side, and his arm settled around her shoulders.
“Very well. Let’s go, then. Jinx.”