Midnight Oil
The scent of the docks at the edge of Hell’s Kitchen was always overpowering, even during the day. Waves of salt, sawdust, and grime would waft over anyone with the will to walk past, and when baked in the sun’s midday rays, it was almost palatable, but not quite.
At night, though, it was different. Salt and sawdust became pungent seawater and copper; one could never really know whether that metallic smell was gunpowder or blood. It wasn’t wise to stay long enough to find out.
You knew this better than most. And now, looking out over the water, something inside you wished you could just dive into those depths and swim far, far away.
The rest of you knew you had to stay.
Besides, swimming in that cesspool? Not a good idea.
And you had shit to do.
A strong breeze blew at you from the direction of the water, carrying that sharp, distinctive smell of the docks too close to you for comfort. You silently thanked your mask for muting the scent as much as possible. The mask was just the beginning - you were covered from your nose to your toes in midnight blue. Odds are, if anyone did see you at this hour, they’d chalk it up to their eyes and their anxiety playing tricks on them in the moonlight.
“You stay the fuck down, you hear me?”
Just what you were waiting for.
“You be quiet, and I won’t have to hurt you.”
Scanning the docks from your position atop a large pile of cargo containers, you traced that man’s rough voice to a smaller container, just at the edge of the water, maybe a hundred feet away. You grimaced at the thought of potentially taking an accidental dive into the harbor’s frigid, bacteria-riddled depths.
Great. Let’s hope he’s a lousy fighter.
Swiftly and quietly, you climbed down your metal mountain with ease. The hand-to-hand combat part of your training had taken a little longer for you to master, but sneaking around came naturally. Always had. Fighting helped when needed, but your ability to tiptoe had saved you far more often than your fists.
Still, there was something about fighting that revitalized you like nothing else. The rush it gave you was almost euphoric sometimes.
You snuck around crates and containers quickly and quietly. The ground was damp, riddled with potholes and puddles, and you had to hop around to avoid them as you moved, but that didn’t slow you down. It almost felt fun, if not for the agonizing pit in your stomach.
This is just the first step. Take him down, and the connections will reveal themselves. It’s what you do; no need to be nervous.
You were only a few containers away from the guy you’d been trailing for weeks. This so-called shipment had been in the works for longer; they had a whole system with this trafficking bullshit. It made you nauseous just thinking about it, thinking about all the horror that those people created, and for what - a stack of cash?
Wreck a woman’s life for pleasure and some dollar bills. Sounds about fucking right.
“Hey, hey, stop your crying. No one’s here to dry your tears.”
The man’s voice was a grating, awful noise at this point, louder and louder the closer you got to him. Every word, as much as it would help lead you to your target, sent bile racing up the back of your throat. You pressed your back to a container and turned your head ever so slightly to catch a glimpse of him.
And there he was, standing stocky and cocky at the edge of the dock. Turk Barrett. Usually just a shitty arms dealer, now he was trying his hand at human trafficking.
Just looking at him made you want to throw up.
He twirled a gun in his hands, his wide grin mismatched with the venom in his eyes. Just past him sat another guy in a foldable chair, eating a damn sandwich like it was lunchtime at the mall food court, while a group of women that you could hear but couldn’t see cried out in desperation, tied up in chains and the arms of evil men, waiting for the end of their lives.
Bastards.
Although your primary objective wasn’t to help the women, you were glad your actions could get them their freedom before it was lost for good.
Watching the ringleader turn his back to where you were standing, you geared up to go at him, muscles tensing in anticipation of some real conflict. You steadied your breathing, closed your eyes, and focused your mind on this calm before the storm, this moment before you made your danger real.
You were built for this.
Made for this.
Born for this.
You’d run up and take him down, head to the ground, maybe threaten to snap his neck if you had to. The idiot eating a sandwich would be easy enough to deal with, provided he didn’t have a gun. But you’d dealt with guns before. Not as scary as they look, not when you’re you.
All you had to do was knock Barrett and his guys out, free the women, and track your results in the coming days.
Easy enough.
You had just opened your eyes, just lifted your foot to sprint at your target, when two strong hands wrapped around you, one clamping over your mask, the other grabbing your arm.
“Shh. Not gonna hurt you, just wanna talk-“
Your fist collided with the man’s temple, hard. He stumbled slightly, his grip on you releasing enough for you to escape it, twisting out of his hands and stepping around him so your back was to the next container. The man turned, slowly, as if not to spook you. Adrenaline burned through you as you took a moment to get a good profile of the guy.
Black combat boots.
Belted black cargo pants. Well-fitting but not restrictive.
Gloves, maybe leather. Like yours, only black.
A black athletic long-sleeve shirt. Skintight. So much so that you could make out every curve of hard muscle through the fabric, from his abs and chest to broad shoulders and defined arms. Might as well not be wearing a shirt at all.
Woah.
No.
Focus.
And, finally, a mask similar to yours - the difference being that his covered the top half of his head.
The fuck? No way it’s this guy.
“Just wanna talk, huh?” You sneered, your voice a whisper. “No one shows up at the docks in the middle of the night to talk. Especially not the man in black.”
You’d heard the rumors about him, whispers about some vigilante running through the Kitchen at night to beat on people. Not that what you were doing was much different, but it was different. He was fighting crime, sure, but you had an overarching plan. You had goals. Specifics.
The masked man clenched and unclenched his jaw. “Exactly. It’s not safe. You shouldn’t be here.”
“I could tell you the same thing.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you caught your target turn. Mask-Man must have noticed it, too; before Barrett could move enough to see the two of you, the Man in Black grabbed you by your shoulders and spun you around to press you against the container, his chest keeping less than an inch from yours.
You would have laughed at that small detail if you weren’t undercover, being grabbed by a strange man while in pursuit of a trafficker. Is this his way of trying to be respectful?
“I know why you’re here.” The man’s voice was husky, low, insistent. “And I’m telling you, it’s not worth it.”
This dickhead. Trying to protect me. Cute.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I think you do.”
“Then why the hell am I here?” You hissed, feeling anger and anxiety rise within you. If you missed your chance, all your work would be for nothing.
“You’re here for the same reason I am. To take down that piece of shit over by the water,” he murmured, “and free up his little shipment. Trust me, if I didn’t believe that, you wouldn’t still be standing.”
You scoffed. “That’s a bold assumption.”
The corner of the man’s mouth quirked up for a split second as if your confidence amused him. “More like an educated guess.”
Who does this guy think he is?
“How educated can your guesses be? You don’t know me.”
“I don’t need to.”
“What makes you think you know why I’m here?”
“Easy. Saw you sneaking around here earlier. Followed you.” He whispered. “You made every effort to avoid them while keeping your attention only on where they were. You had to either be with them or against them - and we both know there’s no way you’re with them.”
The guy was following me around? How the hell did I miss that?
“Totally not creepy. And how do I know you’re not with them?”
“Like I said.” He made a point of gently - but with no lack of force - pushing you harder against the metal wall of the container, his fingers digging into your arms. “You’re still standing.”
Your eyes flitted from his mouth to his mask, narrowing in focus as you considered your next move. Judging by his strength and speed, throwing a punch right now would just end with you pinned against the container again - and trying to twist out of his iron grip was futile. Your gaze traveled down his torso, following the lines of his abs towards his belt buckle and below.
Of course. The obvious option.
Lifting your eyes, the masked man shifted his jaw. He’d relaxed his grip slightly, his head tilted to the side, dipping closer to your face. He’d put you in a shitty situation, but your body betrayed you, a shiver passing through your spine.
“What do you think you’re looking at?” His voice was still rough but warmer at the edges. The words, though husky, slinked off his tongue with too much heat for such a cool night.
In spite of him, you smirked, your concentration sharpening. “Nothing much.”
At that, you drove your knee into his crotch. He let go as if to stop you but was two seconds too late. The man doubled over with a grunt, his hands diving to his groin, and you stepped smoothly around him, running down to the other end of the container. He stood up sooner than you’d anticipated and began walking towards you in long, determined strides, though you could tell by the wince on his face that he was very much in pain.
Serves him right.
You spun around and ran, careful again to avoid puddles and potholes as you raced from container to container, keeping away from any spaces where you might catch the eye of Barrett or his goons. Holding your breathing at a low, steady level was key. You didn’t want to start heaving and attract attention, nor did you want to risk losing your momentum.
You took a sharp turn to your left, running down the length of a container-
-and found yourself at a dead end.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
A container sat at your left, another at your right, and one at the end of them both. You were boxed into a tiny metal prison with only one way out other than up.
What I wouldn’t give to be able to fly right now.
You turned around, only to catch him standing at the opening you’d just so foolishly sprinted through.
“Going somewhere?” He cooed, stalking towards you - a predator going in for the kill.
You took one step forward and one step back, finally faltering. It wasn’t like you, floundering like this, but you couldn’t seem to see a way out. In your desperation, you swung your fist - and he caught it, his hand wrapping tightly around your wrist and drawing you close to him.
“Not this time.” Stupid husky whisper of a voice.
“Fuck you.” You hissed. He just laughed, grabbing your other wrist and walking you backward.
“Little early for that,” he crooned, slamming you against the end of one container, your wrists pinned over your head. You were far enough from the traffickers that he could afford the noise of your body being rammed into metal. A brief flash of pain ran over your back, and you winced.
“So, here’s what’s gonna happen,” the man continued, all the warmth in his voice replaced with cold severity. “If you’re not gonna get the hell out of here, we’re gonna work together to take this guy down. We’re on the same side. I don’t need you getting in my damn way while I’m trying to save lives.” He spat the words at you like you were the real criminal. Your kick-in-the-balls tactic must have really hit him where it hurt.
“Bit too late for that. You botched my mission,” you spat right back.
“I did not. The guy hasn’t even gotten all the women in that container.” He lifted his head, tilting it to the side. “But he’s got a gun. Loading it. We’d better move.”
What?
“Loading it?”
“Yeah.” He dipped his head just slightly, his focus on you interrupted. “Smith and Wesson, I think. And he’s got a taser.”
“How do you know that?”
“Just do. Come on.”
In your surprise at him randomly - and for no real reason at all - guessing the gun’s brand, the masked man was able to start dragging you towards the opening between the containers. You didn’t want another altercation with the guy, but you were not about to be bossed around into some fight you already had handled. So, you dug your heels in, refusing to take another step.
Surprisingly, he stopped and turned to face you, though his grip on your wrist remained tight as ever. Oddly patient for a guy who’d just shoved you against a shipping container.
“Listen,” you hissed, getting in the guy’s face. He smelled like sweat, smoke, and - candles, for some reason.
Incense, maybe?
“I’m not about to be jerked around by some guy in a mask.” You took a deep breath, resigning yourself to the fact that there was only one way through this. “If we’re gonna work together, we’re gonna work together. You seem to know what you’re doing, but I’m sure you can tell I am more than qualified for this type of stuff. I’m not taking orders.”
He paused, considering. After a breath, his voice was still strong, but lost its edge. “Okay.”
“Okay,” you huffed triumphantly, catching a whisper of a smirk pass over his lips. “I can head in first, disarm one of them. Then, since you’re so adept at sneaking up on people, you can jump in. Catch them by surprise.”
“That- that would work.” He took another pause before finally letting go of your wrist. His hands dipped down to the extra deep pockets on either side of his cargo pants, producing two black rods. “These will help.”
A laugh almost escaped you. It just felt so random. “You’re gonna hit them with sticks?”
You could feel his eyes driving daggers into you, even beneath his mask. “They’re billy clubs. Batons. Like what the cops-“
“I know what they are, man. It’s just - no guns?”
“You don’t have a gun, either. Just a few knives.”
You froze for a moment, knowing very well he was correct. “What makes you think I don’t have a gun?”
This time he smirked for real, dipping his head slightly, playfully. That slink in his voice from earlier returned with each word. “Am I wrong?”
You pursed your lips.
So fucking strange.
“Let’s just get out there. We can’t have much of a window left.” You turned back to head out, but he grabbed your wrist again - softly, this time.
“Wait.”
You faced him expectantly, not without a hint of exasperation. “Yeah?”
He opened his mouth to speak but stopped, shaking his head with a half smile as he let your wrist fall back to your side. “Given the masks, I suppose I shouldn’t ask for your name.”
“No. You shouldn’t.”
“Here, well, this’ll get confusing if we have nothing to call each other.” He thought for a moment, setting his jaw. “You can call me Jack.”
“Devil of Hell’s Kitchen doesn’t work for you?”
He snorted. “Bit of a mouthful, don’t you think?”
“Well, Jack,” you hummed thoughtfully. “You can call me… Eve.”
Your legal middle name probably wasn’t the greatest choice, but it was better than your legal first name - not to mention your real name. And introducing yourself by your codename just sounded silly to you, although it had begun to stick in some circles.
“Eve.” The name rolled off his tongue like honey, sweeter than you’d expected. “Pretty name for a fake one.”
The compliment was so out of place here in the darkness. Still, the corners of his mouth tugged at something like a smile, and you felt your lips do the same.
“Alright, Jack,” you cooed, striding past him. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”
‘Jack’ followed you out of the dead end and through the alleys between various containers. The two of you walked in tandem, different and yet so similar in the commanding way you carried yourselves. Soon, he tapped your shoulder, motioning with his right hand.
“This way. Faster.”
You didn’t have the resolve or the time to fight him on it, so you followed him around the corner to your right. His steps grew softer, quieter, until you really had to focus on hearing them at all. At the edge of the container, he raised a hand, motioning for you to stop.
He whispered something you couldn’t quite make out. “What?”
Jack turned around to face you, dipping his head so that his lips nearly brushed your ear. You could feel the heat radiating off of him, an unintentional touch of his chest to yours birthing a buzz of sparks over your body, fuelled by the adrenaline already coursing through you.
“They’re on the other side of this container,” he whispered. His breath felt like fire on your skin, goosebumps prickling up over the back of your neck. You shivered. “You attack him from this side, and I’ll come around the other way.”
“And then?”
“And then we’ll figure the rest out as we go.”
You nodded. Jack took a step around you but reached up as if to place his hand on your shoulder - though he took it back at the last second.
Your eyes shot up to his mask, voice lilting almost teasingly. “You gonna tell me to be careful, Jack?”
“Oh, Eve,” he chided, his words imbued with the same teasing tone. “I’m sure I don’t need to.”
Jack walked to the other end of the container. You steadied your breathing, listening for some chaos, some distraction on your target’s end that would signal a good time to strike.
All while trying to shake off how it felt to have that man inches from you, his body brushing yours, his breath on your skin.
Shut up. Focus.
Focus.
Focus.
“Help! Help me!”
The women had been shouting the whole time, but they sounded more desperate now, their cries sharper. You were pretty sure you heard Barrett tell them to shut up, though it was muffled from where you stood.
“I’m getting a thousand dollars a head for y’all,” he droned. “So, you be quiet, and I’ll let you have a bucket.”
Ugh. God. What a horrible excuse for a human being.
You heard what sounded like a buzz of electricity and more screaming.
The taser. No way.
The buzzing and screaming continued, and through it all, you heard another man speaking in what sounded like Russian, although you weren’t certain. A chorus of thuds came next, which you assumed was the women being shoved down into the crate.
“Scream all you want,” the jackass continued. “Come on, let me hear you scream. Scream loud. Nobody gives a shit down here.”
Those last few words sent your fight instinct into overdrive. You lunged out from behind your container and dove towards Barrett, eliciting more screams from the women. He turned just in time to see you careen into him, knocking him on his ass.
“The fuck?” He shouted, looking up at you. His eyes widened, then narrowed, that terrible grin returning to his face. His goons had begun moving towards him, towards you, but he waved them off, getting to his feet.
Jack, you better get out here soon.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Barrett whistled. “I’ve heard a hell of a lot about you, girl. More than I think you’d like,” he continued, stepping towards you in slow, measured strides.
“Oh, really?” You called out. “Like what, exactly?”
He laughed, a cruel, awful sound. “Just rumors, you know. All that talk about ‘once you finally see her, you’ve already lost,’ that sort of bullshit.” The last word came out more like a hiss than anything else.
Guess the name - and the reputation - are sticking more than I thought.
“You think it’s bull?”
“Haven’t been proven otherwise. So yeah, honey.” He was right in front of you now, so close you swore you could feel his spit landing on you as he spoke. “Bull-shit.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure.”
“You watch that attitude,” he murmured. You stayed still, even as he lifted a hand upwards. He placed it on your chin and harshly tipped your face towards his. No matter how much training and experience you’d had, this man’s touch still filled you with dread.
“I’m not about to be taken out by a damn bird, no matter how pretty she is under all that blue. Maybe I can find a spot for you in the container with the others. Wouldn't mind the extra thousand-”
The crack of a billy club colliding with Barrett’s head ended that sentence for him. He was smacked clean out of your grasp, stumbling sideways until he tripped over his feet and tumbled across the pavement. You whipped your head around to see him - the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen - standing atop the container across from you.
Finally.
Jack jumped down just as Barrett’s guys raced towards him, and he took them on with no lack of strength or ease. It was as if he predicted every punch and delivered each of his own exactly where they weren’t expecting.
You turned back to Barrett, who lay coughing on the pavement. He coughed harder as you kicked him in the ribs - once, twice, three times - before straddling his chest and reaching down to wrap your hands around his neck and squeeze.
“Pretty little bird, huh?” you hummed, smiling sweetly. Barrett grabbed at your hands around his neck, straining, opening and closing his mouth, fighting to collect whatever oxygen he could manage. He could have tried to kick at you, could have dug his thumbs into your neck or your eyes, but he wasn’t thinking straight.
Pain, blood loss, and suffocation tend to do that to a person.
You released one hand, just to ball it into a fist and smack him in the temple, which was red and bleeding from the billy club. His blood felt sticky and warm through your gloves, but you hit him again. And again. And again.
He tried to speak but barely managed a hiss through the pain you knew he was in.
“Pretty little bird, now that’s the real bullshit, don’t you think?” you smiled again, lifting your hand to show him how it dripped with his blood. His eyes widened. “Think you can consider yourself ‘proven otherwise.’”
You reached up both fists and drove them down into his forehead. You did it once more, swearing you could feel the back of his skull grind down against the concrete. That’s all you needed, and he was out cold, his head nodding to the side.
“He’ll only be out for a minute or so,” Jack called out to you, having knocked out one of the guys and going for the next. “There’s a set of - ah - keys in his jacket pocket,” he hissed. “The gold one unlocks the cuffs.”
You were too caught up in the moment to question him. Sure enough, the keys were right where Jack had said. You fished them from Barrett’s pocket and ran to the women, moving down slowly until you were at eye level with them.
“I’m not gonna hurt you guys, I swear,” you insisted. The women shivered, a sheen of cold sweat and tears across all their faces. “God, I’m so sorry. Hold out your hands for me?”
Deftly, you unlocked the first woman, the next, and the next. A few quiet thank-yous left the group, but mostly they were silent. In shock. You certainly didn’t blame them.
At the edge of your vision, you saw Barrett come to, lifting his head off the ground as he remembered his surroundings. His eyes shot to the water, then to the women, to you, and to Jack, before he started trying to twist around and off his back.
“Here,” you turned to the first woman you’d freed, handing her the keys. “I’m gonna need you to take care of the rest. Can you do that for me?”
She held your gaze for a moment. Poor girl couldn’t be older than eighteen. Her eyes were a deep brown, the skin around them strained and stained blue and black with mascara and what you hoped was just a severe lack of sleep. With a shaky breath, she nodded, and you pressed the key into the palm of her hand.
A sharp crack and a guttural groan came from behind you - the type of crack that could only be bone breaking. You turned, hoping against hope that it wasn’t Jack.
And - well, it was Jack. Only he’d been the one to do the cracking, having broken the goon’s leg.
Jesus.
“Eve,” Jack yelled to you, “eyes up!”
Your eyes darted back to Barrett, who had pulled out his - of course - Smith and Wesson, and was prepping to fire.
Fuck.
“Everybody down!” You called out, diving forwards and knocking the group of women onto their backs. A few cried out, but most stayed still and quiet, frozen on the ground. Their fear sent a pang of heartache through your chest.
Gunshots rang out behind you, and you turned your head to see the commotion. You saw Jack on the ground, rolling just out of the way of the bullets and then up and running out of your field of view. Barrett climbed up to a standing position and kept shooting, and you heard a few bangs on the side of the container.
Did Jack just run up the side of the damn thing?
You took one deep breath and then another. The first woman met your eyes. Although she was rightfully terrified, she seemed sure of what had to happen next. You nodded at her. She nodded back as if to say she’d be sure to protect the others. Despite the horrific circumstances, the weight of the moment had a sad beauty to it, showing such strength in the face of such violence.
You got to your feet and tiptoed to the edge of the container. Listening for an in, you heard the place go silent, even the wind seeming to slow.
Now.
From the small sheath strung along your lower back, you produced a dagger, one of three you kept with you. Yes, it was small, but it was heavy and sharp - and perfect for throwing. This one was engraved with rosy floral designs and vines that stretched from the end of the handle to the tip of the blade. You tossed it from hand to hand, remembering weight, aim, and force as you took one last breath.
In. Out.
You spun out from the container to see Barrett’s back. He pointed his gun upwards, desperate to locate his target anywhere, even in the sky. He moved the gun from one corner of a container to the other and back again. The blood from his temple had dripped over the side of his face to the back of his neck, leaving a film that was just beginning to crust.
Above him, in the dark, you could just make out Jack’s outline, crouched on the top of a container like a cat ready to pounce. But, if Barrett kept moving, he’d have a much easier shot.
You drew your arm back and threw the dagger at Barrett. It sunk into his thigh, just above the back of the knee.
“Ah!” He screamed. “Shit!”
Barrett whipped around, firing, and you dove back, just evading the bullet and running past the opening where the women lay. You jumped over a gaping pothole in the ground and swung around to the other side of the container. No effort was made to conceal the thump of your back smacking against the metal. There was no time.
Barrett laughed out loud - although it came out as more of a howl. “Come out, come out, little birdie!” His voice was poisonously thick with agony and scorn. “Never mind the other girls. Now all I want is you.” He huffed. “Good and dead. Sure my colleagues would appreciate that.”
A tremor passed through you. You steadied yourself, though; you’d seen worse. Survived worse.
You stepped out from behind the container just in time to see the Man in Black’s billy club hit Barrett in the head - again. It knocked him to the ground, blood spilling over his leg from where your dagger was still buried in the muscle. Jack then walked over to his billy club, picked it up, and threw it at that idiot in the lawn chair. The guy’s chair tipped, and he fell backward, right into the water with a splash.
How the hell did he make it this far, anyway?
Jack walked back to the edge of the women’s container. They sat up in a huddle, not yet sure if their freedom was secured.
“Head towards 48th,” Jack directed, his voice gruff. “Stay in the lights. Flag down the first officer you see.”
The women didn’t move, so shaken up from their night from hell. Jack slammed his hand against the container.
“Now!” He yelled.
They cried out, but free from their shackles, the women got up and swiftly rushed away. You caught the eye of the woman you’d freed first. Tears at the base of her lashes, she mouthed a ‘thank you.’ You simply nodded, and she ran into the night with the others. You hoped against hope that they’d get away safely, and find whatever they needed to help them recover.
As the women ran, Barrett came to yet again, lifting his gun and shakily aiming it at Jack. You drew another dagger from your sheath and threw it at him. This one sliced through the back of his hand, and he screamed in pain. The dagger gave Jack just enough time to get over top of Barrett, who, while still trying to fire, was leaking blood all over the ground, all over Jack’s hands. Jack knocked Barrett’s gun to the ground and began to drive his fists into the guy, punch after punch, dig after dig.
You held your breath. You were used to violence in many circumstances, but for some reason, you hadn’t expected this level of brutality from him.
Finally, after what felt like forever, he stopped. Barrett’s head lolled to the side, his eyes shut and swollen. Bloody and bruised. Your stomach churned.
“He’s alive,” Jack panted, catching his breath. “He’s alive. Don’t worry.”
“Are you sure?”
“I'm sure.” He insisted. You twisted your lips.
“Okay.”
“They’ll only be out for a little bit, though. Time to go.”
You nodded, turning to leave in silence, before Jack ran up to you, that iron grip returning to your arm.
“Not so fast. We need to talk.”
“I think the best plan of action is to get the hell out of here, Jack. Job’s done.”
“Yeah, and we will. But you and I are gonna have a little chat.”
“Just- wait,” you turned, remembering. “Just let me get my knives.”
Jack pulled a face, almost grimacing. “Fine.”
He let go of your arm, and you tread carefully over the mess you’d both made of this space, taking in the carnage. Men laying unconscious on the ground, blood and bullets spattered everywhere - most people would be puking.
You, though? You were getting your knives back.
Not that you weren’t nauseous. You’d just learned to push that part down.
The floral one was jammed deep into Barrett’s leg. Now it was your turn to grimace. You reached down, got a solid grip around the handle, and wrenched it back with a yank. The blood ran down his leg in more of a river now. Panic rose in your throat.
“He won’t bleed out, don’t worry,” Jack called out to you.
“How the hell do you know, Jack? How do you know?”
He sighed. “Trust me, Eve. Please.”
You shook your head, bending down to wipe Barrett’s blood off your knife on the fabric of his pants. Standing again, you searched the space for your other knife, which had landed a few feet from his head. It glinted in the moonlight, save for a few streaks of blood.
This one was engraved with a different design. Waves. Carrying it with you was like carrying the shoreline, the surf, the ocean. You picked it up and brought it back to Barrett, this time wiping the blood off on his shirt. You’d sanitize them both at home.
“Okay, you got them. Let’s get out of here.” Jack had walked up next to you, and as soon as you re-sheathed your daggers, his hand returned to your arm.
He dragged you out of the horrific scene, past container after container, and you were too exhausted to resist.
“So, Eve,” he began, seeming to sense your weariness and directing you through the docks and back towards the city streets. “What exactly brought you here tonight?”
You almost threw your head back, too tired for such a conversation. “You first.”
“Simple. Wanted to save some people. Give them the justice they deserve.”
“Well, there you have it. Same here.”
He took a sharp breath in and out. “Something tells me that’s not the whole truth.”
“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “Sounds right to me.”
The Man in Black resigned himself to silence, giving up on his need for a chat. His hand on you had become more of a crutch at this point as your drained body worked overtime to keep you moving. You reached the end of the docks and, in turn, the edge of the first few buildings that would stretch into the rest of the Kitchen.
“You have a way home?”
“Dressed like this? Of course I do.” You nodded to the fire escape above you. “Only way is up.”
Somehow he seemed satisfied with that. “Alright. Long as you get home safe.”
“Okay,” you nodded. “Then are you gonna let go of my arm, or will you be taking me home?”
Jack raised his eyebrows under his mask, then seemed to blink, shake his head, and finally let go of your arm. “Sorry. Force of habit. There you go,” he half smiled, awkwardly gesturing his hand towards your now-free arm. You smiled with a single laugh, and he laughed, too.
Two people, tired as fuck, covered in blood, wearing makeshift disguises, standing together in the dark after saving lives and kicking ass. And tomorrow, you’d be meeting with your boss about the promotion you requested. God knows what boring regular-person stuff this guy had to deal with tomorrow.
Yes. It was kind of funny.
Finally standing at ease in front of him, you noticed a line of drying blood running from his nose and around his upper lip. Another streak ran from one corner of his mouth towards the end of his chin. The bruising underneath it all was slight, but still apparent, and you winced at how it must have hurt. Without thinking, your hand shot up to his face, and you traced your thumb along the side of his nose. You moved your hand slowly, other fingers stretching out to brush his cheek, his jaw. The skin felt soft under your fingertips, save for some prickly patches of dark stubble. His lips parted slightly at your touch, and you chalked it up to surprise, remembering yourself and pulling your hand away.
“Sorry. I- sorry. That must have hurt.”
“It’s okay.” His voice was little more than a whisper. “I- yeah. But I’ve been through worse.”
“I don’t doubt that.”
Jack ran his tongue out over his lips, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry, too. About being rough with you earlier.”
You smiled, his random bouts of sweetness both appreciated and so out of place. “No, it’s okay. Really. I get it. I did give you a pretty good kick in the nuts.”
He half-groaned, half-laughed. “God. Yeah, you did.”
“Call it even?”
You extended your hand. After a moment, he reached out his own, grasping your hand and giving it a slow, gentle shake.
“Even.”
You both smiled.
Turning to ascend the fire escape, you got your foot up on the first rung before Jack spoke once more.
“Hey, Eve. One more question.”
“Shoot.”
“I overheard your… chat with Barrett. Heard him say some things about you, heard you say some things back…” he trailed off. You gulped, looking back on the altercation. Not the worst fight you’d had, but not the tamest. Not by a long shot either way.
“Yeah?”
“Given how you fared tonight, I’m not surprised. Just curious. What was that phrase - ‘once you see her, you know you’ve lost?’ Something like that?”
You swallowed. You always dreaded these sorts of moments.
“Something like that.”
He shrugged, his head tilting to the side.
“I just wouldn't mind knowing how you went about getting that sort of thing said about you.”
“What, you need combat pointers? I doubt that.”
“I need information.”
“Information. And you’re not gonna ask why he kept calling me a bird?”
You laughed. The Devil did not.
“Look, Jack,” you took your foot off the rung, turning back to face him. “Would you tell someone you just met why you decided to become known as the devil of your neighborhood, let alone give the details on what got you that reputation?”
Silence.
“No? Then don’t expect any answers from me.”
“I guess that’s fair.”
“Never say never, though,” you hoisted yourself up a few rungs, one foot on the second one, the other on the third. “Maybe you’ll run into me again. Might even get a real name out of me at that point.”
He grinned. “Looking forward to it already. Get home safe, Eve.”
“You too.”
And with that, you were off, up the ladder and over into the staircase, which was relatively quiet to climb, despite the rickety metal it was made of. You raced to the top, and once you reached it, you looked out over the side of the building for some sign of the Man in Black.
And he was gone, of course. Without a trace.
You smiled, hopping onto the roof and heading to the corner where you’d stashed your bag.
Thank goodness for wet wipes.
You removed your gloves and cleaned any blood off your face, and after a glance around, you quickly put on sweatpants and a long, thin overcoat over your outfit, taking off your mask and redoing your ponytail. You switched your shoes, too, opting for black slides instead of your navy blue combat boots. You knew you’d need a better system eventually, but this worked just fine for now. Repacking your bag, you swung it around your shoulder and returned to the fire escape, descending it in short order.
You’d have a lot to manage and even more to take on in the days to come. But for now, you were content with having a safe place to return to - and the Devil more or less on your side.
And on your side, he was - slinking through alleys and across rooftops, your guardian devil for the night, ensuring you got home to the warm bed you deserved.