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“Hey, um-”
Cochise looked up from her sandwich as Cowgirl stuck her head into the living room of their apartment. “Yeah?” she mumbled.
“I just-” Cowgirl shifted her weight, a little uncertain. “It’s probably nothing but - Have you seen Rembrandt lately?”
Cochise frowned. She hadn’t, but that wasn’t unusual. Rembrandt was always ducking in and out, you were lucky if you could get her to stand still long enough to get whatever you needed from her. But Cowgirl looked worried, and Cowgirl would know. Cochise put down her sandwich. “Should I have?”
Cowgirl checked the hallway, as if Rembrandt might be hiding somewhere in their apartment. “I’ve seen her a few times since… That night. But she seemed weird. And now it’s been like a week, and she stopped showing up to work. It’s not like her.”
Cochise folded the paper wrapper back around her sandwich and stuffed it in her hoodie pocket, making for the door. “Shit,” she said, “Have you checked her apartment?”
Cowgirl already had her shoes on. “She wasn’t there,” she said plaintively as Cochise toed on her sneakers, “Or she wouldn’t let me in. I don’t know.”
Cochise swore under her breath. The Warriors had been a little preoccupied adjusting to the news of Fox’s death and the new order of the city and Cochise had assumed Rembrandt would be fine. She was tougher than she looked. She had to be, to keep up with Ajax all day. But Ajax was locked up somewhere in Manhattan and Rembrandt was alone and she hadn’t fucking noticed -
Cowgirl had. That would have to be good enough. Cowgirl wrung her hands nervously, even as Cochise led them out of the apartment and down the street towards Cleon and Swan’s.
Cleon looked like she hadn’t slept in two days. Cochise suspected it had been longer. The Warriors had been on high alert since That Night, patrolling Coney Island for any stray Rogues who got any ideas. Cleon had been on the phone near-constantly, talking to anyone she could track down who had been there That Night, working herself to the bone to prove that Luther and his gun were no match for Cyrus’ legacy.
They caught her in between phone calls, staring absently past a mug of coffee Cochise suspected would go un-drunk. Cowgirl sat next to her on the couch, putting her hand on Cleon’s shoulder.
“Hey,” she said gently. Cleon made a noncommittal sound. She didn’t look at Cowgirl. “How are you holding up?”
Cleon still didn’t respond. Cowgirl looked from Cleon to Cochise, stricken.
“Hey,” Cochise said loudly, “You seen Rembrandt around?”
This seemed to rouse Cleon from her torpor. She blinked a few times. “Rembrandt? Is something the matter?”
“She’s been M.I.A.,” Cowgirl said, “I thought maybe she’d been around here with you.”
Cochise hadn’t. “You guys have a key to her apartment?”
“No,” Cleon said, her brow furrowing with growing concern, at the same time Swan appeared from down the hallway and said “Yes.”
“Great,” Cochise said. “Let’s go.”
Cleon and Swan exchanged some kind of silent leaderly conversation consisting entirely of eyebrow movements that Cochise didn’t really care to translate. Swan turned to get her coat from the closet. Cowgirl was still on the couch.
“C’mon.” Cochise jerked her head at her. “She’s not here.”
Reluctantly, Cowgirl got up. She gave Cleon a last squeeze on the shoulder. “Get some sleep,” she murmured.
Sweet. Unlikely to be effective, but it was the thought that counted.
The hallway outside Rembrandt and Ajax’s apartment was quiet. There wasn’t any movement from inside, but then again, if anyone knew how to be quiet it was Rembrandt.
“How do you even have a key to this place?” Cowgirl asked, as Swan produced a ring of keys from her jacket pocket.
“I don’t,” Swan said flatly. “It’s Fox’s.”
Cowgirl didn’t have anything to say to that. Swan unlocked the door and then shoved it with her shoulder a little bit because the damn thing always swelled with the humidity.
The apartment was dark inside. Cochise ducked her head into the bedroom - also dark, the blankets rumpled.
“She’s not here,” Cochise announced when she re-entered the kitchen. Swan gave her an unimpressed “no, shit” look.
Cowgirl was, inexplicably, going through their fridge. “She’s been gone a while,” Cowgirl observed, “She knew she was leaving.”
“How’d you figure that?” Swan asked.
“She put the milk in the freezer.”
“Damn.” Swan let out a low whistle. “I wouldn’t have thought to do that.”
“She’s smart,” Cowgirl said, closing the fridge. “Really fucking smart. She would have had a plan.”
She took in a sharp breath, and when she turned around to face Cochise and Swan she was blinking back tears.
“Hey,” Cochise said immediately, reaching out to touch her on the arm. “It’s okay, we’ll find her. I’m sure she’s fine.”
Cowgirl laughed thickly. “It’s not that. It’s just-” Her voice broke and she had to swallow. “Fox would have known where she went.”
Swan swore violently under her breath. “You don’t have any ideas? You guys are friends or whatever the fuck, right?”
Cowgirl was losing the battle against the tears that were threatening to spill down her cheeks. “God, you know what she’s like. She’s so fucking quiet. If she’s not at work or here she could be on Mars for all I know.”
Swan frowned. “Somebody has to know.”
Cowgirl paled as realization dawned on her. “Ajax.”
“Fuck,” Swan swore again, “Tell Ajax we lost her fucking girlfriend? No way. You call her.”
Cochise nipped the argument she could tell was building in the bud. “I’ll do it,” she said flatly.
“But-” Cowgirl protested.
“She wouldn’t tell Swan on a good day,” Cochise said, “And no offense, girl, but if Ajax hears it from you she’ll literally never speak to you again. Ajax and me got a few more rounds in us before it starts to stick. I’ll do it.”
Cochise took her sandwich out of her pocket and unwrapped it as she walked back into the bedroom. She picked up the phone off the cradle and hit redial. Someone picked up on the second ring.
“Metropolitan Correctional Center,” said the woman on the other end, “How may I help you today?”
“Hi,” Cochise said around a mouthful of sandwich. “I wanna call an inmate.”
Swan and Cowgirl’s curiosity got the best of them around the same time Ajax’s yelling had reached a volume that was audible even with the receiver laying on the bedside table where Cochise had put it down to let Ajax tire herself out. Cochise heard the door open behind her, but if Ajax knew Swan was here she’d start all over.
Cochise swallowed and picked the phone back up. “Hey,” she said, calmly but loud enough to cut through Ajax’s tirade. “Don’t care. Didn’t ask. Doesn’t change anything. Where the fuck is she, AJ?”
Ajax grumbled and cussed her out a few more times but the woman had made a career of finding and bothering Rembrandt wherever she was for years. She knew.
“Got it. Don’t have phone sex,” Cochise said, “They record these calls.”
This got the expected screeching and none of your fucking business! and not my fucking mother! from Ajax. Righteous indignation at violated privacy was better for her than the guilt Cochise knew had been boiling beneath her earlier fury. Cochise hung up before Ajax could remember why she’d called.
“Alright,” she said, turning to Cowgirl and Swan, who looked amusingly like kids who had been caught eavesdropping. “She’s got an aunt in Flatbush. Let’s go.”
The address Ajax had given her led to a cute little one-story with a charming garden out front. Cowgirl was practically cooing at the peonies, while Swan looked viscerally uncomfortable to be in the suburbs.
“Are you sure this is the place?” Swan asked for the third or fourth time.
“Rembrandt used to be a ballet dancer,” Cowgirl said, “This is the place.”
Swan grumbled a bit more under her breath while Cochise went to ring the doorbell. After a few minutes, the door was opened by a middle-aged woman with a serious mouth and Rembrandt’s thick curly hair. She didn’t look surprised.
“You’ll be here for Valerie,” she said without preamble.
“Um-” Cochise began, but Cowgirl was pushing past her.
“Yes, we are,” she said, “Is she here right now?”
Rembrandt’s aunt sighed heavily. “I think you’d better come inside,” she said.
She led them into a cozy, lived-in kitchen. From overstuffed cabinets she started taking down mismatched novelty mugs. “Coffee?” she said as she worked, “Tea? Hot Chocolate?”
“Coffee, please,” Cowgirl said, with a significant look at Swan.
“Coffee,” Swan echoed quietly.
“I’ll take some tea,” Cochise said.
Rembrandt’s aunt set a kettle to boil and leaned back against the counter opposite them, giving them a discerning look-over. “Introductions,” she said flatly, “I’m Dora.”
That was easy at least, even if Swan seemed pained at either giving her name to the woman or skipping all the names between her and Cowgirl. Dora, to her credit, didn’t seem at all phased.
Dora was quiet for a long moment, staring out the window with a frown creasing her forehead. “Valerie- Rembrandt will be out in a bit,” she said finally, and then, as if to herself, “I really thought it would be Ajax.”
“What?”
Dora’s eyes refocused on Cowgirl. “When Vallie showed up here, I knew someone was gonna come looking. I thought it would be Ajax. But Ajax isn’t coming, is she?”
Cowgirl needed a second to digest that. Cochise answered for her instead. “No, ma’am,” she said, “Not for a while.”
“Damn.” Dora closed her eyes for a second. “I always liked her. They’re not breaking up, are they?”
That Dora knew about Ajax and Rembrandt - that Dora liked Ajax - was so unexpected that Cochise could only exchange a helplessly bewildered glance with Cowgirl.
“Ajax is in jail,” Swan said bluntly.
“Oh,” Dora said, relieved, “Yeah, that seems more like her.”
Swan joined Cochise and Cowgirl’s chorus of mystified looks. The kettle started to whistle, saving them from having to come up with a response. Dora poured Cochise water for her tea and set about making coffee for the others. Cochise counted six mugs on the counter, and watched with amusement as Dora poured an ice cream sundae’s worth of chocolate syrup and cream into the one that must have been for Rembrandt.
There was a chorus of “thank you”s from the Warriors as Dora handed out the drinks. It was into this silence that Rembrandt emerged from deeper in the house, her socked feet quiet on the linoleum.
She looked like hell. She looked like she'd been through hell, the way tempered steel had. This wasn't “I found Coney Island on the map” Rembrandt. This was “break through the fucking window” Rembrandt. She was a Warrior same as any of them.
Here, in the kitchen with its hand embroidered tea towels and house plants hanging in the window, with Rembrandt in an oversized tank top Cochise recognized as Ajax’s and faded jeans, it was more obvious than ever.
“Thanks,” Rembrandt murmured, taking the mug from her aunt. “Give us a minute?”
Dora gathered her coffee and kissed Rembrandt on the side of the head as she stepped out of the kitchen. Cochise suddenly wished the older woman had stayed. Rembrandt leaned back against the counter and took a long, contemplative sip of her coffee.
“Well?” she said after a moment. “Lemme hear it.”
“You could have told me where you were going!” Cowgirl burst out, “I was fucking worried about you!”
“Hm,” Rembrandt acknowledged. “Well, you found me. I'm fine. Next?”
“You can't just fuck off!” Swan insisted. “You've got responsibilities.”
Rembrandt looked at her cooly. “I don't, actually,” she said. “My responsibilities were ‘keep Fox safe’ and ‘keep Ajax out of the slammer.’ You gon’ tell me there’s still shit to do on either count?”
Swan looked away first.
“I know this is hard for you,” Cowgirl said soothingly, “It’s been hard for all of us. It’ll be better if we can support each other.”
Rembrandt’s attention snapped to Cowgirl at that. A chill ran down Cochise’s spine. There was the viciousness that once upon a time had banished Cleon’s doubts that Rembrandt could hold her own in this life. “Oh, sure,” Rembrandt sneered, “This must be so hard for you.”
“Rembrandt-” Swan tried, but once Rembrandt had decided to be mean there was no stopping her.
“It sure seemed fucking hard when I had to save your dumb ass from the Bizzies because you couldn’t wait six hours to get laid!”
Cowgirl was blinking back shocked tears. “That’s not fair and you know it,” she said quietly.
“Fair?” Rembrandt laughed in disbelief. “You want to talk about fair? What the fuck is fair about you risking all of our lives for some fucking chicken piccata? Trying to get into a new guy’s bed when I was just trying to get home to my own fucking apartment and my own empty fucking bed .
“I didn’t even want to go!” Rembrandt said, and she was almost shouting now, “But it’s my fucking girlfriend behind bars, my empty fucking apartment, my initiate hit by a goddamn train! And I can’t even take a break without you tracking me down to tell me I’m being a bad team player? ”
“Rembrandt, I-”
“No.” Rembrandt shook her head violently. “No, I don’t want to talk to you. Get out.”
Cowgirl and Swan exchanged a look. Rembrandt was still shaking her head. “Cochise can stay,” she said, “but you two have got to get the fuck out.”
Swan looked like she wanted to argue. Cowgirl looked like she wanted to cry. Swan looked like she wanted to start a fight about Rembrandt making Cowgirl cry. Cowgirl left first, and Swan reluctantly followed her.
And then it was just Cochise and Rembrandt in that little kitchen, and the muffled sounds of Rembrandt trying not to cry.
“I’m sorry,” Cochise said, and brought her tea up to her mouth to sip from it as it cooled.
They stood there in the kitchen for a long time, Cochise drinking her tea, Rembrandt staring at the floor. Eventually she picked her mug of coffee back up and took a long draw.
“How’s Ajax?” Her voice sounded rough, like she’d been crying after all.
“Bad,” Cochise admitted. “Worse, now that we told her you were missing.”
Rembrandt swore briefly but passionately under her breath. “I’m gonna be hearing about that, huh?”
“Maybe,” Cochise said. Her tea had cooled down to the point she could drink it without blowing on it. It was pretty good. She’d have to ask Dora what kind it was some day. “She might also try to get you to have phone sex with her. Sorry, that’s my bad.”
Rembrandt laughed wetly. “Bad idea. They record the phone calls.”
“That’s what I said.”
They lapsed into a more comfortable silence. Rembrandt drained the rest of her coffee. When Cochise looked up from her tea, Rembrandt was watching her.
“You’re not gonna try and make me leave with you?”
“Nah.” Cochise shook her head. “This is just a wellness visit. If this is where you need to be, it’s where you need to be.”
“Okay,” Rembrandt said, and the tension that had been in her shoulders since she’d come into the kitchen finally eased. “Thank you. For believing me.”
“I’m sorry,” Cochise said again, “About everything.”
Rembrandt shrugged one shoulder. “I’ll survive,” she said quietly. “I always do.”
Cochise tipped her mug back to drink the last of her tea and put it in the sink as she passed. She put a hand on Rembrandt’s shoulder as she turned to leave. “Keep calling Ajax,” she said, “And maybe call home every now and again.”
Rembrandt offered her a watery smile. That was probably all Cochise was gonna get for now.
Swan and Cowgirl were, predictably, eavesdropping in the living room. At least this time, amusingly, Dora was eavesdropping with them. Swan and Cowgirl looked embarrassed to be caught twice in one day, but Dora stared back at Cochise with an expression that dared her to say anything.
Cochise rolled her eyes. “C’mon,” she said, “Let’s go.”