Chapter Text
The courtroom was cold and impassive, just the way Rita hated. She sat in the defendant's chair, the cold wood biting into her back. At her side sat her lawyer, as impassive as ever.
She wondered if her attorney even wanted her to be proven innocent.
“We now begin the trial of Margarita Zeppeli,” said the brightly-colored judge. She banged a neon pink gavel against the desk in front of her, the heavy thunk making Rita flinch. “The defense and prosecution will now give their opening statements.”
“Yes, Your Honor,” said the prosecutor. She stood and began to pace around the front of the room, keeping eye contact with the jury the entire time.
The one-woman jury, to be precise.
The lone blond woman who sat in the otherwise empty jury section seemed like she’d rather not be there either. At least she and Rita had that in common.
“The accused, Rita,” the prosecution stated, “is guilty of many transgressions that she herself will admit to of her own volition. Going against her own morals, the laws this nation upholds, and most importantly, against her own mother's wishes. It is my belief that you, the jury and judge, will find without a reasonable doubt that the accused is guilty of the crimes brought before her here today.” The prosecutor grinned a sharp smile. “Thank you.”
Rita looked helplessly to her own attorney, but the woman remained impassive as she stood to deliver the defense’s statement:
“My client is not guilty and will not settle for a plea bargain,” she said simply before sitting back down.
Rita wanted to pull out her hair as she hastily gripped onto the older woman’s jacket sleeve. “That’s all?” she demanded frantically.
Her hand was brushed off, and her lawyer refused to make eye contact, instead staring straight ahead.
With nothing else to do, Rita sat properly and looked back towards the judge.
“In that case,” the judge said with a nod, “the prosecution can call its first witness to the stand.”
“Thank you, Your Honor.” The prosecutor once again stood. “The prosecution would like to call Crab Louie Zeppeli to the stand.”
Rita’s eyes widened, sense coming back to her as footsteps began to echo through the courtroom behind her. She turned to Brienne at her side, desperately wanting to ask what was going on. She looked to the judge–no, Morgan–and then beyond her towards the man who couldn't be walking towards the stand.
Amanda kicked her feet up on the juror’s block, still as uninterested as ever. The prosecutor–Sally–shot Rita another cruel grin. A grin that was then blocked out by broad shoulders and a thick neck and familiar facial features and kind eyes and–
Rita jerked upright in her bed, stomach clenched as she folded over herself. She scrambled out of bed, just managing to avoid falling onto the floor as she shakily got to her feet. Taking deep breaths and ignoring the buckets of sweat pouring down her brow, she stared blankly at the wooden floor beneath her feet.
Then shifted her gaze over to the clock.
Well, at least she hadn’t overslept this time. It was early enough that she’d had a few more hours before work, but she knew after a dream like that she wasn’t going to be able to fall asleep again any time soon.
As she dragged herself to her feet and headed towards the bathroom, she resolved to get an early start to the work day. And then maybe blow off some steam afterwards so she’d be so busy that she would not think about her dreams, or their rise in frequency, until tomorrow.
-----
October was one of Morgan’s favorite months of the year, second only to December. It wasn’t that she disliked Halloween; it was just that she liked Christmas and the general season of giving even better. But holiday cheer always started in October, with everyone eagerly anticipating the final three months of the year. Decorations appeared on apartment doors and window displays, leaves turned into vibrant reds, oranges, and yellows, and everyone was in slightly higher spirits than normal. Nothing could brighten Morgan’s spirit quite like a chilled pumpkin-flavored drink and an oversized, fluffy knitted sweater on a pleasantly chilly day. And as she charged through the door to Informer Co with a brown paper bag filled with goodies and a cardboard drink carrier with freshly brewed, seasonally-flavored drinks, she was determined to share her good cheer with the rest of her coworkers.
She barreled down the stairs, careful not to jostle the drinks in her hand, and strode into Brienne’s office.
“Boss! I’m back!”
Brienne looked up from her ever-overflowing desk of papers with a raised eyebrow. “I do believe I sent you home an hour ago, Morgan.”
Morgan carefully placed her goodies down on the chairs across from Brienne’s desk. “Well yeah, but I had a few errands to run before I went home. I ran by the pet store for some extra bird treats, and then I dropped into a bookstore with a great holiday discount, and then I thought ‘man, I sure wish I had a drink right about now’ so then I dropped by the Hot n’ Cold. And they were having a seasonal deal too, sooo–”
Morgan pulled a drink from the carrier and placed it on Brienne’s desk. “I decided to get everyone a little something! I got you a cardamom latte, and–oh! Pick a number between one and two.”
Brienne took the drink in her left hand while her right continued writing. “Two.”
“Congratulations!” Morgan exclaimed, digging a carefully wrapped item from the paper bag. “You have won a complimentary boo-berry muffin!”
“Not blueberry?” Brienne said with the hint of a smile on her face.
“I would never bring something so un-festive.” Morgan beamed. “Come on, Brienne, take a five minute break and try it. Please?” She batted her eyelashes in an attempt to be extra persuasive.
“Hmm,” Brienne considered, checking the clock before carefully setting Paperback Writer down on her unfinished document. “...Alright. But only for a moment.”
“You only need a moment to take a snack break!” Morgan said with a smile. “I’m going to pass the rest of these goodies off to the other girls. Be right back!” She leaned over and picked up the drinks and the bag of offerings before bouncing out of the office and into the hall.
“Actually, Rita left soon after you did,” Brienne said as she removed the plastic lid from her latte and let the steam leak out. “She said something about the gym.”
“Oh, thanks for the F-Y-I, Boss!” Morgan said as she spun on her heels to instead approach Sally’s office.
“Knock knock!” Morgan yelled at the closed door, kicking it with her foot while her arms were full. She felt Sally’s footsteps reverberate through the floor before the door swung open and Sally appeared to greet her.
“What’s got you back around these parts, Morgan?”
“The holiday spirit, of course!” Morgan said as she made herself at home on the couch next to Sally’s desk.
“Aw, is one of those drinks for me?”
“You know it! Guess what I got you?”
“Hmm… Could it be a spiced apple cider?
“Ding ding!” Morgan said as she presented Sally with that very drink. “That and a pumpkin-flavored muffin!”
“You are too sweet, thank you,” Sally said as she took a hearty swig of her drink and winced. “Ah crap, totally burned my tongue just there. But this should keep me alert until five, at the very least. I still have a few tests to finish before I head out.”
“I could keep you company,” Morgan offered, pulling out her own boo-berry flavored muffin and an old fashioned hot chocolate.
“Not if you have any food in hand you won’t.” Sally frowned. “And I’m doing ballistics analysis anyways, so we won’t be able to talk. It’s gonna be a lot of, uh, shooting guns in here.”
“Wow.” Morgan said, stars in her eyes. “Science is cool.”
“I never got to do this in grad school. It works wonders when you’re stressed.”
“Well I hope I’m not bothering you in the meantime!” Morgan said, carefully cradling her drink in the crook of her arm while she peeled off her muffin wrapper.
Sally eyed Morgan’s food as crumbs fell from the wrapper onto the floor and a few drops of latte spilled out of the cup. Sally got up and took the drink away before it all ended up on the couch. “You know what, why don’t you eat that at the desk? Pull up the chair over there.” As Morgan moved, Sally grabbed a sizable stack of half-opened envelopes and papers on her desk and tossed them into a recycling bin, clearing up a space for Morgan’s snack.
“Woah Goggles,” Morgan said as she sat down. “You didn’t need any of that?”
“Hah, no. That was about half a year’s worth of junk mail. Somehow my old college has Informer Co written down as my primary address, and they’ve been sending me alumni letters asking for money. And for all the things Brienne excels at, apparently checking the office P.O. box isn’t one of them.”
She pulled a fancy-looking coverstock booklet out of the trash with a picture of a smiling college student and big, bold letters reading ‘New York University’ on the front. Opening it up to a two page picture of a bustling city campus, Sally plucked up both their drinks and placed them down onto the pages. “A year and a half of grueling exams and preparatory PhD work led to basically nothing, but at least I got a makeshift coaster out of it.”
“Are you sure you wouldn’t want to go back someday?” Morgan asked through a mouthful of muffin.
Sally rolled her eyes and leaned back to kick her feet up on the desk. “Honestly I’m not sure. The work was brutal and all-consuming, but I was handling it pretty well when studying and all-nighters were my only job. But now I’ve had a break from it all and I’m working full time… I don’t know if I want to go back to being broke and tired.” She paused. “And Brienne’s less likely to hang me out to dry than a PhD advisor, if my last one was any indication.”
“You mentioned that when you were chatting with Anne! Surely there are other, better advisors at NYU, or maybe at another college entirely?”
Sally threw a bite of muffin into the air before catching it in her mouth. “Yeah, that’s the problem. I was interested in a specialization of biochemistry called proteomics. It’s pretty niche, and only a handful of colleges across the country have it. NYU was the only school I could feasibly get into, both in terms of costs and grades. But what sucks the most is that my advisor was, like, my dream advisor in terms of his research specializations. If he didn’t completely suck as a person and mentor, it would’ve been perfect for me.”
Morgan nodded slowly as she sipped her drink. “Aaaand what was the research about?”
Sally’s eyes glinted as she launched into a detailed explanation of proteomics that Morgan knew she’d never properly understand. But it was nice for her to see Sally so passionate about something, and she nodded and followed along the best she could.
-----
Morgan skipped down Rumble Boxing club’s plain cement stairs, the spring in her step muted as she cradled the drink carrier and paper bag in her arms. Compared to how Morgan remembered it, the place was practically desolate. The main boxing ring and surrounding bleachers were all empty save from the occasional club employee cleaning or setting up equipment.
Morgan’s steps echoed as she crossed the empty space and headed towards the practice rooms. She noticed that one of them had the lights on, and the faint, rhythmic thud of music cut through the air as she approached it.
Knocking twice on the doorframe, Morgan stepped into the practice room to find Rita in a practice ring boxing with Alice “Jukes” Davidson, the underdog who won in the tournament they watched all those months ago. Apparently, Rita had kept in touch.
“Hey Rita, it’s break time!” Morgan called out, presenting her goodies for Rita to see.
Rita spun around. “Huh? Oh, hey Morgan! What are you–ack!” While Rita was distracted, Jukes landed a merciless punch to her stomach, sending Rita to the ground clutching at her midsection.
“Come on, Robin! You know not to get distracted in the ring.”
Crumpling over, Rita responded with a rude gesture before hobbling out of the ring. Once she’d climbed out, she turned back to her opponent. “Come on, Jukes, you know I can’t resist a good snack break. I think you’re just jealous.” In a fluid motion, she grabbed the cappuccino Morgan had brought her and brought it to her lips.
“Guess I need me some co-workers willing to go out of their way to bring me drinks when I’m not working.”
Morgan frowned, and Jukes bit out a laugh. “Don’t look so sad, sweet cheeks; it’s a joke. I’m sure Robin here will appreciate her drink enough for the both of us.”
“You know it,” Rita laughed before turning to Morgan. “Thanks for the coffee!” she said, face splitting into a smile after the first sip. “For real, girl, you always know how to get the sugar amount just right.”
“No worries, kiddo,” Morgan responded with a laugh. “If you really want to thank me, maybe you could consider taking on more assignments that involve directly working with Brienne? I know you still slip some of those projects into my work pile.”
Rita visibly slouched. “Aw come on, you know she likes you better.”
“Hey, she likes all of us in her prickly, quiet way. She’s just still working on showing it.”
“Which is why she’s not speaking to Amanda at all,” Rita scoffed before immediately backpedaling at the sight of Morgan’s eyes, big and watery. “Not for lack of trying of course! It’s just hella complicated. I get that. How is Amanda, by the way?”
“As well as she can be. Still more of a shut-in than usual, but she’s been joining me for more meals lately!” Morgan puffed out her chest in pride. “More recently I convinced her to let me set up the SNES in her room to play Super Mario Kart. I think she’s enjoying it! She’s already thrown her controller through our drywall twice, once out of frustration and then once in triumph!”
“So either way she still destroys the controller,” Rita observed.
“You don’t understand, Rita. Gaming is all about passion!” Morgan replied. “I’ve destroyed my fair share of controllers in a fit of rage too! That just shows that you care.”
“Yeah I get that,” Jukes piped up, leaning on the elastic rope lining the ring. “It’s kinda like boxing–you get really into it and your adrenaline spikes. It's just that gamers don’t have the privilege of having someone around to punch when they’re in the moment.”
“So you break the controller?” Rita joked. Her words were met with silence however as the conversation screeched to a halt. Morgan, along with Jukes, was distracted as a distinct muscular silhouette came in through the gym entrance.
Backlit by the afternoon sun, Jean Wrangler strode into the club like he owned the place. And after seeing how quickly the occasional employee or cleaning staff scrambled to get out of his way as he passed the main ring, anyone would have thought he was the owner, the sole proprietor, or star boxer at the club.
He was accompanied on either side by a large bodyguard–both dressed in the same well-pressed suit–one black and one white–but both sporting the odd fashion statement of a call bell on each shoulder, not unlike the ones you would find at a desk to demand better customer service, mimicking shoulder pads.
Morgan knew that everyone at the gym had stopped whatever they were doing and fallen silent to watch the legendary Jean Wrangler pass by. But that silence was what made his bodyguards’ presence even more out of place–with every synchronized step, both men’s outfits jingled with the sounds of bells ringing. Intrigued, Morgan inched closer to get a better look: both bodyguards had identical brass bells sewn onto their coattails and had another complimentary set of bells in place of their cufflinks.
As the sounds of the jingling bells increased at their approach, Morgan had to hold her breath to contain her growing need to laugh. She had finally managed to pull herself together right as Jean stopped directly in front of Rita and Jukes’ practice ring.
“Good to see even on the off hours there are still people practicing,” he airily noted. “Good to see you still in the game, Jukes.”
For her credit, Jukes managed to keep her wits about her, giving him a curt nod despite the starstruck expression she couldn’t quite wipe from her face.
He turned to Morgan. “And I see you, Ms. Morgan, and Ms. Rita are still frequenting the gym. Good to know my lesson didn’t fall on deaf ears.”
“Well, more Rita than me,” Morgan chuckled, rubbing the back of her head. She hadn’t heard a word from Jean since their fateful fistfight almost two months ago. Neither had Rita for that matter, who now frequented the very gym he brought them to when he was assessing their strengths.
“Well then,” Jean continued on, snapping Morgan out of her musings. “How about we have a small practice round–the offer extends to any of you, of course.”
Jukes looked ready to pounce on the idea, but Rita raised her hand before she had the chance to answer. “I’ve been doing more kickboxing than traditional, if that’s cool.”
Jean put on another dazzling smile. “I can go MMA style, it’s just practice after all.”
Jukes leaned into Rita, loud enough Morgan could hear her whisper, “You so owe me, Robin.” before climbing out of the ring, keeping her eyes locked with Rita the whole time.
Rita shrugged at her friend’s stink eye, but Morgan spotted the hidden smiles on both of their faces.
As Jukes left the arena, Jean climbed in, waving off one bodyguard’s attempts to help him up but accepting the other’s offering of a pair of boxing gloves. Steadying himself, he fluidly slipped into his starting stance, and after a moment Rita followed suit. “Count us in!” he called over his shoulder back towards the group.
Morgan opened her mouth to count, but before she could, the stoic bodyguards Jean had brought along spoke in unison: “Three, Two, One, Fight.”
On ‘fight’, the two both reached up to ring the bells on their left shoulders, the dual tones accompanied by sneakers against canvas as Rita and Jean moved forwards.
The fight was much less intense then the one Morgan had gone through. She watched as the two exchanged blows, taking their time to circle the ring in between hits.
That in itself was a dead giveaway that something was off–from what Morgan remembered, Jean’s abilities worked best when he was throwing jabs in quick succession, but today he didn’t even have his Stand, One More Time, out. Presumably because Jean didn’t want his bodyguards realizing that his ‘students’ could see it?
The other reason for his change in styles, Morgan thought, might be to hold some sort of conversation. She watched his mouth move ever so slightly as the two tried to knock each other's teeth in. He must be whispering something to Rita, though Morgan had no idea what.
The match, predictably, ended in Jean’s favor. When the bodyguards called time neither were already out for the count, but it was clear from Rita’s heavy gasps that she had a ways to go before she could keep up with a welterweight boxer of Jean’s caliber. Jean, meanwhile, looked almost unaffected by the exercise.
Nodding to Rita, he climbed back out of the ring. “That was a good match. Keep what I’ve told you in mind, and I’m sure you’ll go far. I look forward to seeing you again.”
He left as quickly as he came, putting a heavy hand on Morgan’s shoulder as a goodbye before he departed.
As soon as the ringing of bells were out of earshot, Jukes ran up to Rita. “That was amazing!! You really held your own!”
Rita chuckled, still catching her breath. “I don’t know about that… He was definitely going easy.”
“I did notice him saying something. What secret knowledge did he share with you?”
Rita shot Morgan a not-so-covert look before turning back to Jukes. “Nothing big, just the normal stuff. Keep your core lowered, make sure to follow through on your attacks, keep your head in the game until you know it’s over, stuff like that.”
“Okay yeah, nothing big.” Jukes seemed a little disappointed, but quickly got back on her game face. “You too worn out to keep practicing, orrrr?”
Wiping some of the sweat off her brow, Rita chuckled. “No, I'm fine to keep going. I’ll probably be here a bit longer before heading back to work to clear something up.” She turned her head, “See you later, Morgan?”
“Sounds good! See you around, kiddo!”
-----
“I’m home!” Morgan yelled out as she kicked off her light up shoes and vaulted through the entryway of her parents’ home.
A series of chirps echoed from somewhere else in the home before her pet pigeon burst into the room in a flurry of pink feathers. He landed on her shoulder and nestled his head into the crook of her neck.
“Aww, I missed you too, buddy.”
“Good evening, Ms. Morgan,” Jeeves said as he appeared at the top of the home’s grand staircase.
“Hey Jeeves! Did you have a chance to look at that list of potential names for my sweet pigeon boy yet?”
Jeeves visibly straightened, projecting a professional air. “Yes, I did. And while I know of your interest in naming him something game-related, I question if the names of common game protagonists are the best choice for him.”
“But if I don’t name him something cool, then he won’t have anything to aspire to when he grows up,” Morgan said.
“There are plenty of ‘cool’ things outside the recent video game fad, Ms. Morgan.”
“Ok first of all, it’s not a fad. It’s a lifestyle. And this pigeon is the paragon of gamers.”
“Is he now?” Jeeves struggled to keep the smile off of his face. “And what games has he played so far?”
Morgan whipped her head around to face Jeeves, newfound certainty in her gaze. “He completed the entirety of Kirby's Pinball Land for the Nintendo Game Boy just last week!”
Jeeves coughed. “He… did?”
The pigeon cooed from its perch on Morgan’s shoulder.
“See?” Morgan said, petting the back of the pigeon’s head. “Kirby’s Pinball Land was just the beginning!” She stiffened in realization. “Wait, that’s it!” Morgan gently grabbed the bird and held him in front of her face. “How would you like to be called ‘Kirby’s Pinball Land for the Nintendo Game Boy’?”
Kirby’s Pinball Land for the Nintendo Game Boy cocked its head to the side, blinking slowly.
“‘Game Boy’ for short!”
Game Boy hooted once again, and the decision was made.
“Oh, and I have good news for you, Ms. Morgan. Would you come up here and follow me, please?”
Jeeves beckoned her upstairs and led her down a hallway lined with doors, most of which led to guest bedrooms.
When he reached a door with shabby, peeling brown paint and a faux gold handle that clashed with the rest of the hallway's color palette, he turned and beckoned Morgan towards it.
Morgan gasped. “No way. No way! You really found it?!”
“Finding it was the easy part, Miss. It was more difficult to figure out how to transport it—or if it was transportable at all. I had to consult quite a few of my contacts who… had the eye for it.”
Morgan threw the door open and ran into the room, yelling towards the ceiling: “Cha Cha! Is that you? Are you there?”
A beat of silence. And then an echoing voice called back: “We’re going to get funky.”
Morgan squealed in delight, running back through the door Jeeves was holding open for her and throwing herself into his arms. “Thank you thank you thank you! This is the best!”
Jeeves smiled. “Now Ms. Morgan, this is the part where I must remind you to be careful with this.”
“Yes, Dad,” Morgan said, rolling her eyes. “It’s not like I’m going to get stuck in there though. I’ve already escaped it once!”
“I’m more concerned for the people you invite over. I will make sure proper signage is around the space to deter people from entering. You need to not let any guests wander in.”
“Sounds good! Oh.” Morgan’s voice dropped to a whisper. “How is our guest doing?”
Jeeves’ expression sobered, and he took a long breath. “I can’t say the situation has improved much, Ms. Morgan.”
Morgan’s lips thinned. “Is she drinking, at least?”
“Not enough. Ms. Sally provided me with documentation on her feeding schedule prior to this past month. On the days when she doesn’t refuse it entirely, she drinks far less than is indicated she should.”
“Do you think that’s bad?”
“I confess that vampire physiology is well out of my realm of expertise. However, loss of appetite in conjunction with some of the other behavior I’ve observed—such as oversleeping, fatigue, and crankiness—can all be attributed to—”
“Amanda is, like, perpetually cranky! And she always has been since I met her!”
Jeeves hesitated. “…Yes. But it appears that the severity of some of those other symptoms are worsening. Sally said Amanda used to rise with the moon every night. That was an hour ago, and she still isn’t—”
“You know what, I’m just going to go check on her,” Morgan said, stomping down the hall.
“Ms. Morgan,” Jeeves called out. “Be gentle.”
Morgan spun around, looking affronted. “Since when have I ever not been gentle?”
Jeeves shook his head, a small half smile on his face. “I have been chasing you down since you learned to walk, Ms. Morgan. You’ve always had an abundance of energy, and you’ve always wanted to share it with others. I am merely suggesting that Amanda might not be ready to partake.”
Morgan spun around and waved. “Okaaay, worrywart. Thanks again for finding Cha Cha. I’ll see you at dinner.”
Morgan turned the corner and headed towards Amanda’s room, and an unwanted tension coiled through her spine with every step. She had hated when she started feeling this way shortly after Amanda moved into the mansion, and she hated it even more when it only got worse.
And it was always at its worst during the walk to Amanda’s room, often shortly after hearing another worrying prognosis from Jeeves. She pulled her lips into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes and stopped by the door.
She checked the crack at the base of the door, looking for light coming from inside. As far as she could see, there wasn’t any.
Her heart started to beat a little faster in her chest.
She approached the door, knocking with a semblance of her usual gusto. No response. She knocked again.
No response.
The silence made her ears ring.
“Amanda?” Morgan called out towards the closed door. “Are you awake?”
Nothing. Morgan felt a sharp tightening in her gut.
“Amanda, please. I know you don’t like me coming in without permission…”
Morgan could hear nothing but the jackrabbit beating of her own heart.
She snatched the doorknob with a shaking hand. “Amanda I’m really sorry but it’s late and you haven’t gotten up yet and Jeeves said it’d be really good if you got something to eat today, and…”
A column of light from the hallway framed Morgan as it beamed into the otherwise dark room. It illuminated a human-shaped lump lying under the covers of a four-poster bed. It squirmed away from the light as it made contact.
Morgan felt the tension in her gut swoop as a rush of relief flew through her system.
“Oh. You’re awake. That’s good. Um. Again, I’m sorry to intrude, I just—”
“I’m tired, Morgan,” Amanda replied dully.
“Yeah, well…” Morgan scratched the back of her head and, for once, didn’t say what she was thinking.
It’s like you’re always tired, these days.
Morgan huffed out a breath. “Look, there’s no way lying around like this all day and night is healthy.”
“I’m fine.”
“You know, a few years back, after I graduated highschool, I didn’t have anything going on and nothing to do, so I laid in my room playing video games for, like, two weeks straight. It was awesome. Or at least, I thought it was until Jeeves dragged me out of bed and made me go outside. And hoooooly crap had I forgotten just how good it felt to be outside, you know? Just to smell the fresh air and feel the sun on your skin.”
Amanda scoffed. “Yeah, a little sun is definitely what I need.”
“Hey now.” Morgan pouted. “You know what I mean! When’s the last time you got out of bed?”
“Go away, Morgan.”
“No! I’m putting my foot down here! You’re getting up,” Morgan said as she flicked on the overhead light and bounded over to the bed.
Amanda hissed, squeezing her eyes shut and visibly flinching at the sudden onslaught of light, which meant she was unprepared for when Morgan launched herself onto the other side of the bed. She landed with all her weight, pushing the mattress down on her side and up on Amanda’s, and sent Amanda flying out of bed and onto the floor.
“Oops…” Morgan cringed. “I promise I didn’t mean to do that.”
Amanda practically growled in response, ripping the blankets off of herself and standing to glare daggers back at her.
Morgan gave her a winning smile and stood back up. “Well, since you’re up, maybe we could do something!”
“I don’t want to do anything.”
“What, so you’re just going to sleep the year away? Look, what if we… I don’t know… what if we went out and did something?”
Amanda raised an eyebrow.
“It doesn’t have to be anything crazy. Hmmm… oh! Oh! What if we went to see something on Broadway?”
Amanda pursed her lips and opened her mouth to speak, but Morgan cut her off: “No, hear me out! You don’t need to talk to anyone to watch a play. You know it’ll be a great show too, it’s Broadway after all! And it would give us both a chance to stop thinking about, you know, all of the stress Informer Co is putting on us right now.”
Amanda blinked. “Since when does anything stress you out?”
“Are you kidding? It feels like we’re all walking on eggshells ever since what went down last month. It’s been a lot.” Morgan took a breath. “Which means I need this just as much as you do, I promise. So!” She reached for Amanda’s hand. For once she didn’t pull away, and Morgan gave it a little tug. “Can we go see a play? Please? You can pick it.”
Amanda’s gaze flipped back and forth from the bed and Morgan before she shook her head. “Fine.”
Morgan squealed, bouncing on her heels. “Really? Yay! Let’s go talk to Jeeves–I bet he’ll have suggestions for what’s showing. Come on!” And she dragged Amanda out of the room and down the hall in search of Jeeves.
-----
Jean swung open the doors to the men’s bathroom at the Rumble Boxing Club and swiftly stepped over the threshold. He was beyond relieved to finally have his bodyguards’ eyes off of him. But he knew better than anyone that closed doors rarely offered him any real privacy; he knew they weren’t above breaking down doors to check on him if he took too long. He grinned shakily, his expression appearing more uneasy than relieved.
It wasn’t until a few years ago that he even found it in himself to dream of being free.
He walked steadily towards the stalls until he heard the sound of the door shutting, after which he immediately pivoted and headed for the lockers. Biting his lip, he forced himself to keep his breathing steady.
The timing was perfect. If he was ever going to escape, it had to be today.
He approached a locker on the far wall. He’d chosen this locker many months ago–it sat at the farthest position away from the bathroom doors as possible and had a pillar obscuring it from view. His hands shook as he reached for the combination lock and started inputting the code. Knowing he would panic at this very moment all those months ago, he had made sure that the combination was something he would never forget. So of course he made his boxer registration number and the code one and the same.
The lock popped open. He carefully removed it from the locker while making as little noise as possible. He then pulled a tube of graphite lubricant from his pocket and applied it to the locker’s hinges before slowly opening it.
He’d be damned if he got caught because of a squeaky hinge that hadn’t been used in months.
The door opened silently and he eyed the locker’s contents: a business card and a portable phone. He carefully picked both up and dialed the number on the card as silently as he could.
The phone rang once.
An agonizing moment of silence.
The phone rang twice.
Jean feared for a moment that his heartbeat was audible from outside the room.
The phone clicked, and: “You have reached Informer Company Private Investigations This is Brienne. How can I help you?”
Jean swallowed around a sudden lump in his throat. All he had to do was speak the words, but doing so was going to change his life forever. If this plan failed, his family would surely kill him.
But he was sick of living in his family’s iron grip. He was sick of their control. Of their abuse. Hell, he was sick of the fucking bells. And he decided years ago that, someday, he was going to find out what it felt like to actually live.
Well, if he managed to survive what was to come.
Jean clenched his fist and spoke, his voice barely a whisper: “It’s me. It’s time for Operation Recourse.”
He heard the sound of pencil lead scratch on the other line. “Acknowledged. And you are certain you do not need an escort to reach the rendezvous point?”
“Certain. I’ll be there within the hour.”
“Very well. The girls and I will be waiting for you. And you will only have two pursuers, yes? The bodyguards?”
“Only them.” Jean gripped his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering.
“Excellent. I am confident in our ability to neutralize them. As long as you make it to the rendezvous point, we will protect you without fail.”
“Got it,” he breathed, feeling slightly lightheaded. “Thank you.”
“Thank me once the threat is neutralized,” Brienne answered before ending the call.
Jean carefully put the phone back in the locker, closed the door, and returned the lock to its proper location. He then silently jogged over to the bathroom sinks. Ignoring the harrowed look on his own face, he unhooked one of the mirrors–about three feet tall and two feet wide–from the wall, revealing the tunnel he had spent months making with his Stand, One More Time. He crawled inside and reattached the mirror to its resting place before climbing towards the surface.
By the time his bodyguards figured out that he was missing, he would already be halfway to Informer Company.
-----
Meanwhile, at Informer Company, Brienne was the closest she’d been to real anger since she learned that her team helped three vampires escape Speedwagon Foundation captivity.
“What do you mean they went to a play?!”
Jeeves chuckled on the other end of the phone. “As I said, Ms. Brienne: Morgan has been working to lift Ms. Amanda’s spirits since the events of the past few months, so they are attending a Broadway play tonight. Unless this is a true emergency, I’d like to recommend that you let them be, at least for a few hours–”
“Tell me what play they’re seeing.”
“Really now, Brienne, can’t Sally and Rita handle–”
“Sally, Rita, and I will be facing a near complete unknown tonight without their assistance. And surely you know this to be one of the deadliest of possible scenarios.”
Jeeves let out a sigh. “Surely that is an exaggeration; I know of your team’s capabilities, and–”
“The name of the venue and the play. Now, Jeeves,” Brienne hissed.
“...They’re at the Ethel Barrymore Theater. I apologize, Brienne, but Morgan wanted to let Amanda choose once they arrived, and–”
Brienne promptly hung up the phone and began to dial the theater’s number, cursing fate for having Jean’s call arrive when her team was still recovering from Operation Mask Den. If she felt an inkling of guilt for her role in causing that damage, though, it was forgotten once the receptionist answered the phone.