Chapter Text
The door to their apartment swung open before Cleo could even put her key in the door. Martyn was standing there with a fuzzy blanket draped over his shoulders and worry creasing his brow. Cleo didn’t even get a word in before Martyn blurted out, “Is she okay?”
Cleo smiled their sad but polite smile, one so well-crafted and practiced that they didn’t even have to consciously think about doing it anymore. “I can’t say much because of patient confidentiality, but she’s relatively okay.”
“Thank fuck,” Martyn breathed out in pure relief, tension noticeably relaxing in his shoulders. “Where is she now?”
Cleo closed and locked the door behind her before answering this time, “I had Artemis pick her up and bring her to one of their safe locations until they figure out how to move forward.”
Martyn nodded solemnly as he mulled that information over. He took Cleo’s hand and led them to the kitchen where he had turkey and rice soup in the slow cooker, temperature set to low just to keep it warm until Cleo arrived home. “I’ll make up your bowl, and you can tell me more.”
“I don’t know more than what I’ve said– things that I can share; patient confidentiality–” Cleo shook their head to help show Martyn they weren’t keeping things quiet for no reason, “but I’m going to be managing her healthcare, so I’ll make sure she’s okay.”
Martyn jutted out his lower lip in a pout as he removed the lid to the slow cooker, turned it upside down, and set it off to the side. “C’mon, babe! I’m the one who brought Lizzie to you in the first place. Don’t you think I deserve a little more than that?”
Cleo rolled their eyes fondly as they reached over the counter to poke somewhere below his ribcage. “Nosy motherfucker.”
“Pot,” Martyn gestured to himself with the soup ladle before swinging it back toward Cleo, “kettle.”
“Ha!” Cleo snorted, amused. “Fine, fine, you got me there, Mr. Pot.”
“As I always do, Nurse Kettle,” Martyn shot back with a gaudy, over-the-top curtsy.
Cleo wrinkled her nose and forced a gagging noise simply for the effect. She’s been around Martyn long enough to know he would appreciate the effort, that sort of thing more than second nature after so many years. “Ew, not Nurse Kettle. I hated him. Loathed him, even.”
“Ohhh,” Martyn drawled, mouth gaped open in realization. “Was that one of the nurses you hated at your old gig at the hospital?”
“Yeah,” Cleo confirmed as she pulled one of the kitchen drawers open to reveal the cutlery. They retrieved two spoons from their tray, one for each of them, before closing the drawer and turning back toward the counter. By that point, Martyn had filled the soup bowls, so Cleo simply stuck a spoon within the broth and grains of rice. “He always got on my case for no reason, acting like he was in charge when he wasn’t. He kept trying to boss me around.”
“I bet that didn’t work out too well for him.” Martyn placed the lid back on the slow cooker as Cleo picked up their bowls and brought them over to the table.
“It sure didn’t!” Cleo humphed triumph, puffing out her chest slightly. “I’m not an easy target, and I don’t go down without a fight.”
“You’ve always been good at that.” Martyn pecked a kiss against their cheek before moving to take his seat. “Enough about him though, come sit! I’ve been smelling this since I came home, and I’m famished. ”
As if on cue, Cleo’s stomach rumbled in agreement, causing them both to laugh and Cleo to pat her stomach. “Apparently I agree.”
“Bon appetit!” Martyn raised a spoonful of soup up like it were a glass of champagne and he was making a toast. Cleo indulged their partner, raising their spoon to click against his.
Idle conversation passed between them, though the topic managed to come back around to their involvement with Lizzie earlier that day.
“I already told you most of what I can,” Cleo reminded Martyn when he asked her to expand on what happened. “Besides, I’m sure the tale you have to tell is much more exciting than my reaccountment full of medical mumbo jumbo.”
“Well, exsqueeze me!” Martyn gasped in faux bafflement. “For your information, I quite like it when you talk medical mumbo jumbo to me. It’s sexy.”
“Oh yeah?” Cleo raised an eyebrow, keeping any giggles down, preventing them from coming to the surface. “Sexy, huh?”
“Very sexy,” Martyn confirmed brightly, wiggling his eyebrows like he often did when playfully flirting. “Why do you think I’m dating a nurse practitioner? Nothing hotter than having to give a urine sample and later being told I have three days to live. Makes the sex that much better.”
“Good void– ” Cleo covered their mouth half-heartedly as they laughed, unable to take him seriously. “Martyn!”
“Cleo?” Martyn acted innocent, but he knew exactly what he was doing.
“Just–” Cleo started, but they failed to produce a suitable response. Was there even a suitable response? Instead of fumbling further as they searched their mind for one, they gave up on the route and went down another one. “Shut up and eat your soup.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Martyn chirped cheekily, dipping his spoon in the soup before shoving a large spoonful of turkey and rice into his mouth.
Staying true to their word, Cleo told Martyn more of what happened after he dropped Lizzie off at the clinic before continuing on to hopefully throw off any potential pursuers and eventually meeting up with Apollo. There really wasn’t much she could say, out of respect for Lizzie, and she would need to do more tests later (such as checking for STDs), but she didn’t plan to go into all that with Martyn either.
She didn’t really need to, anyway, because Martyn seemed mostly concerned about Lizzie’s diabetes. To help his worries, Cleo confirmed that they were able to stabilize Lizzie’s sugar (for now), obtain insulin injections, and craft plans with Artemis on getting Lizzie a continuous glucose monitor. It was enough to put him at ease, permitting their conversation to gradually flow away from their involvement with The Hunters and to just being as they were. They loved life the most, after all, when they simply existed as Cleo and Martyn.
ˏˋ°•*⁀➴
Pearl strolled down the sidewalk with her hands in her hoodie pocket and her fingers gripped around her phone, ready to pull it out to take pictures at a moment’s notice. It was currently open to that screen from previous use, her camera roll already holding some new additions. She had been tailing the rich pimp for over an hour now, but she wasn’t ready to call it a day just yet. She wanted more information.
The hood of her red and black hoodie was up, covering her hair, and she wore a disposable black face mask, obscuring her face. Both worked to hide her identity from human eyes and a security camera’s watchful gaze. Not only that, but they made her appear unapproachable, hopefully warding off people from entrapping her in small talk and making her lose her target.
She was essentially stalking a man she had become quite familiar with, based purely on her research, which was more of an internet deep dive she spent hours doing the night before as she shoved popcorn into her mouth and huddled up on the couch. Pearl knew much more about this disgusting, perverted pedophile than she would care to admit, but learning puke-inducing information came with the territory.
Alas, if she and her brother were going to clean up this city, they were going to have to get their hands dirty. It wasn’t like the government cared about them enough to do it legally, so it was her job to do it right and not get caught.
Travis Casimer, twenty-eight years old. Husband to a formally-child bride– fine, teenage bride, Elizabeth Casimer, currently almost twenty years old. Soon to celebrate their four year anniversary, though she was sure he would only wine and dine her if he hadn’t already pimped her out for that day–
Pearl became overtly aware of the weapons concealed underneath her clothes, each of them itching to be used and Pearl having to talk herself away from it. Luckily, her phone vibrated, alerting Pearl that someone was texting her and, as a result, giving her the distraction she needed. She didn’t necessarily want the distraction, but rushing into anything would be too hasty, too messy… messy is what got them killed.
𖤓: you better not be doing what i think youre doing
𖤓: if you are
𖤓: you should have at least told me
𖤓: i would have helped!
𖤓: i could get you backup
𖤓: i could be your backup!
⏾: i don’t need backup
⏾: its just some light stalking
⏾: no ones dying
⏾: not tonight anyway
𖤓: -_-
⏾: ill be fineeee
⏾: you have my location if anything goes wrong
𖤓: no i dont
𖤓: actually
𖤓: you turned off
𖤓: asshole
Pearl blinked down at her text messages with Grian before minimizing that app and rerouting to what they used to track each other’s phones. Right. She had done that when he was pissing her off. Plus, she hadn’t wanted him to follow her, but that probably wasn’t the right move, safety wise. Pearl turned her location back on and swiped back into the messages with her brother.
⏾: you have my location if anything goes wrong
⏾: but ill be fine
⏾: you dont gotta worry bout me
𖤓: ???
⏾: check my location
𖤓: huh??
𖤓: oh now i do
⏾: told ya
𖤓: thats only cause you turned it on smh
𖤓: youre still an asshole
⏾: and youre still a bitch
⏾: whats the difference?
𖤓: im omw
⏾: grian!
𖤓: pearl.
⏾: >:(
𖤓: ill be there in ten
𖤓: dont get yourself killed
⏾: if anyone dies tonight, it wont be me
𖤓: i hate you actually
𖤓: i hate you so much
Her lips twitched into a small smile underneath her face mask. She always appreciated their squabbling and banter. It helped keep them from becoming too jaded by the lives they led.
⏾: ily too <3
𖤓: fu <3
⏾: bitch >:O
𖤓: fine ily
⏾: yay :D
Pearl clicked her phone off and shoved it back into her pocket. She stretched, using the motions as a disguise to survey her surroundings. Luckily for her, her target hadn’t moved very far, meaning she still had a trail to follow. One way or another, you’re going down, Travis Casimer.