Chapter Text
The walk down the hall was deadly silent as Chrissy shrugged into her shirt and refastened her overalls. She didn’t speak, but gestured for Nathaniel to lead the way as he beelined for his room.
“What the fuck was that?” She asked as the door closed behind them.
“You tell me,” he replied, trying to keep the heat out of his voice. “You can’t just threaten my teammates, Chrissy.”
“What have you told them?” She rounded on him, then.
“Nothing,” he said. “I don’t know how Renee knew anything. She shouldn’t have.”
Chrissy let out a humorless laugh. “I don’t believe you. Nathaniel, this is not the time to fuck up.” Nathaniel opened his mouth to reply, but she reached out and grabbed him by the chin. “This is not the time. Kengo is not doing well. There is about to be a lot of weight getting thrown around. Do you understand me?”
Nathaniel couldn’t nod, so he frowned and hoped that it conveyed his irritation that she would ever assume otherwise. “I’m not outing anyone,” he said, his voice slightly muffled. She released his jaw and sat back, searching his face. “I’m not spilling any secrets. But Wymack knew Kaylee - and Tetsuji, most likely. You really think that he won’t put two and two together if a couple of Ravens show up and then members of his team start going missing?”
Chrissy was silent for a long time, mouth pinched. Then, at last, she said, “I’ll keep the dossier off the main server. But I’ll have to make one. We need to know who she is and what she knows.”
Nathaniel could only nod, resigned.
“I’m not going to ask,” she said, as if coming to a decision. “But you are out of the Nest, Nathaniel. You cannot afford to be this sloppy. When Kengo dies, you need to be certain your spot is secure. Do you understand me?” She reached out again, fingers digging into his arm. “He won’t keep anyone whose loyalty he doubts.”
And he heard then the unspoken promise in her words; that it wouldn’t be Chrissy. She wouldn’t let her loyalty be questioned. Not even for Nathaniel. “I know Chrissy,” he said. His voice broke, just a little as he caught her wrist in a loose grip, more a caress than anything else. “I don’t.” He frowned, looked away to gather his thoughts. “Kevin is my priority.” He looked back towards her, let his hand fall to his side. There was a crooked smile on his face, a pale glimmer in his eyes. “We both know I’ve always been on borrowed time.”
The air rushed out of Chrissy’s lungs and she reached forward then, pulling him under her arm, letting her head rest against his. And for a minute, they were two knock-kneed kids sitting on a wharf, cold to the bone and waiting for claws to settle on the back of their necks. “You and me both, kid,” she said. He leaned into her, feeling her take his slight weight easily. She held him until a key rasped in the lock, and when she stepped away, he shivered in the sudden chill.
Andrew did not so much open the door as burst through it, and his gaze fell heavily on Nathaniel before turning towards Chrissy. His smile had dimmed to a mere grimace as he looked her up and down and said, “Date night is over.”
Chrissy cocked one eyebrow at that, gaze darting from Nathaniel and Andrew as if there were something to see in the air between them. “Maybe,” she said, her own eyes taking on a calculating look. She turned back towards Nathaniel and leaned forward to press her lips against his. The kiss lasted less than a second, little more than a light brush, but Nathaniel had to suppress the urge to wipe his mouth afterwards. “I’ll call you tonight,” Chrissy said, a wry twist to her lips that told him she hadn’t missed his reaction.
“He’ll be busy,” Andrew said. Chrissy turned to look down at him, that same strange look on her face. “We have plans,” Andrew said.
“Do you?” Chrissy’s face twisted in a smile that Nathaniel had never seen before; it was too wide. It didn’t reach her eyes.
Andrew’s smile was evil. “Yes.”
Chrissy laughed softly and said something in quiet German. Andrew let out a bright, malicious cackle before responding in kind. Chrissy jolted as if slapped and stepped forward, leaning into Andrew’s space to snarl her reply into his face. Nathaniel heard his name and stepped forward, halting when Chrissy’s hand whipped out to seize his shirt, holding him at arm’s length. There was a rapid-fire exchange, then, and he watched with growing unease as both of them grew increasingly tense.
Then, all at once, Chrissy laughed. She stepped back, tone derisive as she spoke one last time. She released Nathaniel’s shirt. “I’ll call you tonight,” she said, but she didn’t take her eyes off Andrew on her way out the door. She drew even with the goalkeeper and leaned down to hiss something in his ear. She slammed the door on her way out.
Andrew’s eyes bored into Nathaniel, and for three thundering heartbeats, he was perfectly still. Then he crossed his arms, and his fingers began that familiar tapping against his biceps. “Your girlfriend is a bitch,” he said conversationally.
“She is not,” Nathaniel snapped. “What the fuck happened? What did she say?”
“Truth for truth. Why is Renee calling me about your killer girlfriend?”
“Renee thought she saw something. She was wrong,” Nathaniel said.
Andrew laughed. “Oh, Neil. You lie so poorly for someone who does so much of it. Renee is rarely wrong.”
“Who the hell is she?” Nathaniel demanded. Andrew’s smile only grew, and Nathaniel felt his temper fraying, badly. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll know by this afternoon, anyway.” And that reminded him - “What the fuck do you mean, we have plans? I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Oh, I think you are,” Andrew said. “You want to know who Renee is? You’ll meet her yourself. I covered for you just now on credit, and I don’t like to leave outstanding debts.”
“So let’s settle it,” Nathaniel said. “What do you want?”
“You’ll spar with me and Renee tonight.” Andrew held up a hand as Nathaniel started to protest. “I agreed to let you stay, but you’ve made an enemy out of dear, sweet Renee. I won’t clean your mess up for you.”
Nathaniel gave himself a minute to seethe, teeth grinding together. “I’m not going to spar with you. I told Tasha I’d go to that party with her.”
“Poor little Neil Josten. Doesn’t know it’s work before play.” Andrew’s smile was somehow still a sneer for all that it stretched so widely across his face. “Basement. Six pm.”
“You need to rethink your persuasion techniques. They suck.”
Andrew leaned forward, golden eyes lighting like coals in a stray beam of sunlight. “I don’t need to be persuasive,” he said. “You’ll just learn to do what I say.”
Nathaniel laughed, then. “You’re all so sure of that. Every single one of you. You all think you know what’s best, but you don’t. You want me to jump when you say jump? Fucking earn it. You think because you keep one secret that means I’ll do what you want? Everyone is so sure that I owe them something for not fucking me over, but do you know what I think? I think fuck you. Fuck you all.”
His chest heaved, and he knew his face was a brilliant shade of red, knew that he had shown his cards. But he couldn’t make himself look away, couldn’t make himself walk any of it back.
Andrew watched him, the curl of his mouth somehow sinister and reassuring all at once. He flicked two fingers. “Come spar with us tonight. Clear your debt. Tomorrow, we meet on even footing. Truth for truth, an equal exchange.”
“Why,” Nathaniel said. His voice, not quite cracking, creaked with the heaving of his chest. “Would I believe - anything - that you tell me?”
Andrew paused with his hand on the doorknob. He shrugged. “Oh, Neil,” he said. “You don’t have to. It won’t change reality.” His smile was a knife between the ribs. “The truth never does.”
As the door snicked closed behind him, Nathaniel felt a chill run up his spine. His whole body buzzed, and his hands shook as he crossed to his dresser and dug out his running clothes. He was out the door in minutes, and he didn’t return until his mind had fuzzed out into silence.
He trudged through the front door of the ABC Liquor, hair still wet from his shower, and was met with the unimpressed face of a tall, lanky person draped over the front counter. A shock of neon green hair assaulted Nathaniel’s eyes underneath a black beanie.
“Don’t even try it,” they said. “There is absolutely no way you’re old enough to buy anything in here. Except maybe this gum.”
“I’m here to talk to the owner?” Nathaniel said. The person at the counter rolled their eyes and shouted back down the hallway.
“Hey Reg, someone here to see ya.” They turned back to Nathaniel with a studiously bored expression. “Are you with the high school or what?”
Before Nathaniel could reply, the door down the hallway swung open and his blood ran cold as Jackson stepped out of the office and gestured for Nathaniel to join them. Nathaniel forced his numb feet forward, trying to calm the wild jump and jolt of his pulse. Jackson’s broad hands fell heavily on his shoulders, propelling him inside.
Kicking the door closed, Jackson gestured to the shorter man sitting behind the desk. “Junior, this is Reg. You’ll be working the desk and running inventory for him.” Nathaniel couldn’t see him, but he could hear the smile on Jackson’s face as he spoke, smell the rank scent of his tabbaco as it washed across the back of his neck.. “Reg here is gonna show you how to work the books. He’s not so good at them, himself.” Jackson slapped Nathaniel’s arm. “Would hate for them to get so out of line that they needed correcting.”
Nathaniel watched as comprehension dawned on Reg’s face in stages: first, the slight furrow of the brow. Then, the eyebrows, shooting upward. Last, the hard, hateful look he directed at Nathaniel. Nathaniel felt their shared knowledge settle in his gut, heavy and cold. He would work this man’s books, and he would keep his father’s smuggling a secret. And if necessary, he would take this man into the back alley and put a bullet through his skull.
Nathaniel let the man look his fill. Weighed his hatred, took the other man’s measure. Then he looked back at Jackson, who was grinning. Jackson’s hand fell, hard and heavy on his shoulder as his laugh boomed in Nathaniel’s ear.
“You’re your dad’s son, kid.” He flicked Nathaniel’s cheek before pointing at Reg. “He’s the boss, ya hear?” Jackson spat a long, black line onto the man’s floor and grinned, drawing his chew up into one cheek with a wet noise. “Don’t make me come back here.”
He kicked the door on his way out, and Nathaniel kept his eyes fixed on the ceiling until he heard the back door closed. When he looked back down, Reg was rising from his chair.
“You listen here,” Reg began. But when he reached for Nathaniel’s arm, he met only the business end of Nathaniel’s blade. Reg swore as the tip bit into the meaty flesh of his palm, tried to pull back, but Nathaniel followed him, easing the gun from his waistband to press against Reg’s ribcage. Nathaniel let his cold eyes settle on Reg’s face, red and sweating, for a long, heady moment.
“Go on,” Nathaniel said. And he let his father’s smile crawl across his face. “I’m listening.” Reg said nothing, the breath shuddering in and out of him, and Nathaniel twisted the knife still half-buried in his hand. Reg screamed, and Nathaniel sighed, stepping back as the sharp scent of urine filled the room. He watched the other man press his head back against the wall, hand clutched to his chest and leaking crimson against the striped shirt.
“I’m going,” Nathaniel said. He cleaned his blade on Reg’s shirt and stowed it away in his pants. The gun followed. “I want the passwords to the books written on a sticky note on the computer when I come back, as well as the admin override for the computer itself. If you’re smart, whatever shit you had on there is going to be gone by the time I get back.”
Reg opened his mouth to speak, but Nathaniel cut him off with a snarl. “And don’t fuck with me again,” he rasped. “I’ve had a fucking bad day and you are the absolute least of my very large problems. There is absolutely no goddamn reason for you to think that you can outsmart Wesninski so please, please, for the love of God, keep your asinine hands to yourself, keep your head down, and don’t make me fucking shoot you.”
Nathaniel waited another minute to be sure that Reg would not get back up, and he spun on his heel and left, breezing past the kid at the counter with little more than a wave. He took a handle of bourbon with him, ignoring the cashier’s shout of protest as he stormed back to the Camry.
By the time he reached Fox Tower, his hands were shaking on the neck of the bottle. He eschewed the elevator in favor of running up the stairs. He blew past his floor and kept going up, shoes hushing against the concrete while his heart pounded in his throat. He hit the door at the top full force, not caring enough to stop. Something popped, and suddenly he was stumbling out into the open air.
The door creaked closed behind him, leaving him standing on the stairs leading up to the gravel-filled roof. Nathaniel mounted them slowly, the fight slowly draining out of him and pooling somewhere in his gut. His limbs shook in the aftermath, and he moved with the jerky motion of the dead as he went to sit on the edge of the roof. Gravel crunched against his palms as he lowered himself down, biting into the skin just enough that he ground his hands down with bit more force before taking the bottle back up.
He watched his feet kicking in the air as he took a long drink, the bourbon almost sweet enough to make him gag. He eyed the dumpster in the alleyway below and thought about the sound his skull would make bouncing off of it if he dropped from this height. He gauged the distance and revised, thinking instead about the wet spray that would hit the alleyway walls as his head exploded, pumpkin-like, on impact.
His phone rang. Pulling it from his pocket, he stared down at Chrissy’s name on the screen, let it ring in his hand for a long moment. It went to voicemail, then lit up again. Dragging it to his ear was like hauling up an anchor.
“Renee Walker is a pseudonym,” Chrissy said.
“Hello to you, too.”
She ignored him. “Natalie Shields is her real name. She was mixed up with a gang in Detroit, cut her way through the ranks pretty quickly. She’s out on a snitch’s pardon. Got adopted by some journalist, changed her name and voila.”
“So, what, you think she’ll just turn us in anyway?” Nathaniel wedged the bottle between his legs and jammed the cork top back into the mouth.
“I think you’re playing it too risky,” Chrissy snapped. “You’re going to risk your neck for her? She’d turn you over in a heartbeat if she had proof. Or that psycho child you call a roommate? Nathaniel.”
“I said no, Chrissy,” Nathaniel snapped. “If you clean this team, we’re done.” He closed his eyes, waiting. He couldn’t have said for what, but his spine melted when an aggravated sigh rattled in the phone’s tinny speakers.
“Fuck you, Nathaniel,” she said.
His “Thank you” echoed onto a dead line and he set the bottle aside, scooting back from the edge to regain his feet. His hand met with something papery, and he rose, eyeing the handful of cigarette butts that had dusted his palm with a fine white grit. Grumbling, he wiped his hand off against his pants and turned to go.