"I see it all perfectly; there are two possible situations — one can either do this or that. My honest opinion and my friendly advice is this: do it or do not do it — you will regret both."
― Soren Kierkegaard

Tommy reaches a hand up, placing it against the mirror. He strikes his hand down with the harshness of someone slashing with a knife. His hand wipes away the condensation on the mirror. Without the gray film, he can see his expression staring right back at him. His hair is wet with water. He wears a towel around his shoulders to collect the water that would otherwise fall on the shirt he borrowed from one of the dressers in the safehouse. His face is pale, accentuating the scars along his jaw and the puffiness around his eyes. The puffiness does little to hide how shockingly blue eyes staring back at him. The person in the mirror leans forward, and Tommy grabs the edges of the sink to keep himself from completely falling against the mirror.

Within a breath, Tommy catches sight of something green behind him in the mirror. He gasps, twirling around with enough force that his back slams painfully into the sink. He searches for Reverie in the background, but he finds himself looking at a coral green towel hanging on a metal bar, drying from being used earlier. Tommy runs his fingers against the fabric. It still feels damp under his fingertips. It was just a towel; he shouldn't be afraid.

He frowns, pushing away the memories of Reverie. He narrows his eyes at the fabric. He closes his fingers around it until he's gripping it into a fist. When the fear ebbs away, anger takes its place in his heart. He should have been stronger. Reverie has been gone for years now. Even if they met each other, Tommy should be over whatever happened to them. He should remember that he's stronger now. Reverie can only hurt him if Tommy lets him, and unfortunately, Tommy keeps letting him. He should be smarter than this by now.

Tommy closes his eyes, unclenching his fist around the towel. It falls from his grasp, and he can't help but compare it to a life. If Tommy had been braver, he wouldn't be worried about Dyscardia and Ravager right now. He should have held tightly to their lives instead of letting it fall through his fingers. He should have made them his strength if he couldn't find his own. But he didn't. He let them down, and it was tearing Tommy apart.

Serenade drove Tommy to this safehouse, and he didn't say a word during the drive. Tommy didn't feel like talking, but he despised the silence. He would have even been okay if Serenade berated him for his actions. He would have been okay if Serenade kicked him out. Instead, he drove Tommy all the way here. When they arrived, Serenade shoved Tommy into a room with vague directions to get clean. At least, Tommy thinks he said that. He can't actually hear much right now. Everything feels underwater, hazy and heavy, and it's getting worse the longer he remains here in the silence with his thoughts.

Tommy exhales, opening his eyes. He faces the ceiling. Part of him reminds him that he shouldn't care what happens to members of the Syndicate. He will admit that he's gotten closer with Ravager and Dyscardia, but he is certain they still hate him. Of course, they probably hate him even more now. They have done awful things. Tommy has a record of it all, and he can trace some of the scars on his body from them. He has never had major fights with either, but they have hurt him as much as he has hurt them. There is something inherently wrong with him caring about them.

Tommy wants to blame his feelings on his preexisting guilt. They are in part about that, after all. He doesn't want anyone else around him to die. It isn't entirely his fault that his family died, but he does blame himself for being the only to survive. What if Dyscardia and Ravager die? He would be the only one left. It would completely crush him. He doesn't want to be the only survivor again. He doesn't want the memories of these people to be tainted by the fact that they are gone and it is his fault. He didn't help them, after all, so why wouldn't it be his fault?

It would also ruin his tentative relationship with some of the other Syndicate members. He hates having connections, but he desperately wants to keep a few of them. That's the nature of a human being. While Tommy can try to forge himself into a weapon, he will always carry a heart that yearns to run away from the loneliness his mind is using like a shield. He wraps his arms around himself, tears rising to his eyes. He cannot let this break him. He's come so far.

Tommy reaches for the mask he brought into the bathroom. It isn't like his normal masks in the sense that it's just a blindfold. When Tommy ties it around his eyes, he can see about as well as he can with his other masks. Tommy looks back at the mirror. With his eyes being hidden, he finally feels like he's looking at himself again. He has no reason to wear a mask since he has no identity to protect, but he hates his eyes. He doesn't want to look at them. He doesn't want anyone to say anything about them. He is already on edge right now; he doesn't need the memories to come back to him.

Tommy picks open his uniform. He keeps it with him as he pushes open the door to the communal bathroom. He steps into a long hallway. It smells even more like bleach in the hallway than it did in the bathroom. At least the bathroom has a vague floral scent to it. Tommy is half-tempted to return to the bathroom for that reason alone, but he simply moves on. He exits the hallway, stepping into a waiting room lined with chairs. He drops his uniform onto one of the chairs. He watches his glasses hang precariously on the edge while his metal mask completely tumbles to the tile floor. It remains there as Tommy deposits his body into the neighboring seat. He throws an arm over his face, leaning his head against the wall. He controls his breathing, attempting to do something without knowing what he wants to do.

He is consumed by worry, so his thoughts eventually go back to the two people at the center of it all. He can still feel Dyscardia's slowing pulse beneath his fingertips. The warmth of her blood lingers against his skin even when he's washed it all off. The echoes of her screams hammer through his thoughts. He recalls the smile she wore as they walked to the Eiffel Tower. He remembers talking to her in the Trading Station. He remembers bleeding out in her arms. She was cold to him, but she eventually warmed up to him, and wasn't that warmth wonderful?

Ravager is supposed to be an imposing figure. He stands above everyone else as a one-man army. He was the hardest person for Tommy to study, and that eventually led to Tommy having a form of respect for the villain despite their opposing views. Tommy reaches his hand out, thinking about Ravager's skin. It was cold, and it shouldn't be that. As far as Tommy is aware, Ravager's body temperature should run higher than the average person's. The fact that it got that low is especially worrying. Tommy frowns, almost being able to feel the letters they send each other in his hands. The paper is smooth, and the ink is glossy, and the edges lightly tickle his palms, and he can read each word over and over again until something like happiness settles in his chest. He's put every letter into a box, the same one he keeps the framed picture of his family in. He doesn't care about Ravager, but he considers those letters his prized possessions. He doesn't understand, but he supposes he doesn't have to.

His heart is burning at the lack of knowledge. He needs to know what's happening. Even if they're dead, he wants to know.

"Vendetta," Someone calls. Tommy startles, lifting his arm away from his face. As he scans the room, he realizes his vision is blurry. It isn't because of his mask. It's because tears are slipping from his eyes, slow and cold. He blinks them away. He finally finds the person speaking to him. Phil is at the doorway, holding it open as he stares at Tommy. The hero can see Sneeg standing behind Phil, trying to peer over the man's shoulders. Tommy opens his mouth to respond. When nothing comes out, he closes his mouth again. He still isn't ready to talk it seems.

"Vendetta," Phil repeats, rushing into the room. Tommy sits up, surprised when Phil grabs Tommy's shoulders. Instead of throwing him around in anger, he brings Tommy against his chest. Tommy flinches worse than he would if Phil had just hit him. Phil doesn't let him go even when Tommy's body jerks. He holds him close. Tommy has a few inches on Phil, but the older man doesn't let that become a problem. Tommy is still undetermined if he thinks that is a good thing. "What happened isn't your fault."

"Phil's right. It was the fault of those bastards, the cultists and the Hunters. I can't tell which group I hate more," Sneeg hisses, shaking his head. Tommy laughs wetly, but he doesn't agree. He can admit that he wasn't the one to deal the blows that caused Dyscardia and Ravager pain, but he could have prevented it. Isn't inaction the worst sin of them all? Tommy thinks he read that somewhere. Or maybe a villain quoted it at him during a fight. Some villains do get rather poetic or philosophical, but that doesn't mean they're wrong.

"Sneeg, stay here with Vendetta. I'm going to check on Ravager and Dyscardia. I will be right back with the news," Phil proclaims, pulling back enough to look at Tommy's face. Tommy meets his eyes. Phil has blue eyes, like Tommy, but Tommy doesn't hate Phil's eyes. The color isn't ideal, but how can he hate the eyes that look at him with such care? It almost seems like Phil is just as worried about him as he is about the two who were critically wounded.

Phil walks back through the door he and Sneeg came from. Tommy flops down in the seat he was in before Phil dragged him to his feet. He stares at the door, hardly paying attention to Sneeg. The other man looks at the door, too, but then he seems to snap back to attention. He lowers himself into the seat beside Tommy, the one on the other side of his equipment. Tommy shifts his gaze to look at Sneeg from the corner of his eye. The civilian places a hand on the esper's shoulder. Sneeg leans forward, to make sure that Tommy is looking at him as he squeezes Tommy's shoulder. "We weren't lying. I swear it isn't your fault."

Tommy exhales through his nose. The air brushes against the back of his hand. He looks down at his hands. He couldn't find a shirt with longer sleeves, so his scars are on full display. The existence of the scars contradict Sneeg's claims.

Sneeg's eyebrows furrow together in confusion. His hand slides down from Tommy's shoulder to his hand. Tommy blinks owlishly as Sneeg takes his hand. "Why do you think it's your fault?"

Tommy wretches his hand away from Sneeg's hold. He slams his hand against his chest, holding it with his other hand. He jumps up from his seat, whirling around to glare down at Sneeg. The civilian leans back, keeping his eyes on the angry esper in front of him. "Maybe because it is my fucking fault! If I wasn't distracted by Reverie, I could have been there to help!"

"Or it could have turned into a situation where all three of you were badly hurt and no one would have been able to call for help. Your actions could have even hurt the others more," Sneeg points out. Tommy throws his clenched fists down to his side. Sneeg is technically correct. Anything could have happened if Tommy had done something. He could have made the situation better or he could have made it worse. He'll never know. Sneeg shifts, "In any case, Reverie was your abuser. No one expected you to be able to do anything under that sort of trauma."

"Reverie is not my fucking abuser," Tommy rebukes. He has to start changing his mindset. He needs to face Reverie. He needs to get over this. Of course, Tommy can make all these claims when Reverie isn't in his presence. Tommy has observed that he has a spot in his heart reserved for Reverie. Anger fills it when Tommy is alone; fear fills it when Reverie is there. Tommy will have to find a way to lock the anger there. He doesn't want to be afraid anymore.

"That's fine," Sneeg seems reluctant to let Tommy say that, but he does for some reason. Maybe because of the next words he says, "Does that mean you agree that what happened isn't your fault?"

Tommy looks away, realizing that he didn't refute that claim. He drops back into his seat with a sigh. Sneeg looks at Tommy with a smile. "You did your best. We're all grateful for that. Now, we have to let Argonaut do what she does best."

The door swings open. Tommy looks towards it immediately. Phil enters the room with a smile on his face. Sneeg stands up, going past him into the hallway. Phil takes the seat that Sneeg was in. Tommy follows him with his entire body. When Phil settles, he takes Tommy's hand like Sneeg did. Tommy spends half a thought wondering if those two are related before he's back to listening to Phil. "Ravager and Dyscardia are fine. They're resting right now."

Tommy exhales a breath that has been held in since the moment he heard Dyscardia scream. He slowly pulls his hand from Phil's grasp. Instead of getting up in anger like he did for Sneeg, he curls up into a ball. He tucks his head between his knees. He closes his eyes with a harsh frown. Eventually, however, his breaths even out, and sleep overtakes him.

—

Niki lies in bed. She pulls the comforter all the way to her chin. She keeps her arms tight to her chest, trying to preserve all the warmth she's keeping trapped beneath the fabric. She lies on her side, staring across the room. Techno sits up in the other bed. The comforter remains at his waist as he reads a book by the lamplight. He wears a neutral expression as he flips the page. If she asked, he would turn the lamp off so she could go to sleep. As it stands, she keeps her lips shut and allows him to read his book. She has been his friend for a few years now, and she knows how much he likes to read before bed. It helps soothe his mind. Niki would never begrudge him that, especially when the light doesn't actually bother her. It is a soft, warm color that makes her relax even as it shines through her closed eyelids.

The door creaks open. Niki opens her eyes to see who is sneaking in at this late hour. She expects it would be Wilbur. Every time someone gets injured, Wilbur will usually stay with him. He'll lose sleep like that, however, so Niki prepares to tell him to go back to his bed. She's fine, and so is Techno. Puffy healed them of all their wounds. In Techno's case, there isn't even a scar left. Niki's newest scar looks like she got it from tripping with how small it is. Wilbur has nothing to worry about, so he shouldn't hurt his back trying to stay in here.

As Niki lifts up on her elbows, she notices that it isn't Wilbur standing in the doorway. The lamplight reflects off of blonde hair. Wilbur has always been a brunette. The only person in the Syndicate with blonde hair is Phil, and even then, the figure is wrong. The figure at the door must be the only other blonde person that would know where the safehouse is.

"Damn it," Niki hisses, reaching for her mask on the nightstand that stretches from her bed to Techno's bed. She doesn't even have her voice modifier on. How is she supposed to protect her identity if Vendetta walks into the room without knocking?

"He's sleep-walking," Techno says. Niki's motions cease. She shifts back into her bed. She remembers Wilbur mentioning that. It was in one of his reports about Vendetta's activities. Ever since that report, Wilbur has been putting off sending new ones.

Vendetta remains at the doorway. The lamplight shines across his body. He is wearing a casual outfit. Niki has never seen him wearing something casual. Wilbur and Jack have, apparently, so Niki has only taken their word for it. The clothes he's wearing right now are baggy, made for someone a little larger than him. The blindfold around his eyes does nothing to hide his damp hair. The golden strands are starting to coil like springs, and it somehow makes him look younger. Perhaps, though, the biggest sign of his youth is his expression. In his sleep, he is completely neutral. There is no pain, no regret, no guilt, no grief, no anger, nothing that matches Vendetta up with the image in Niki's head.

Vendetta takes a step into the room. Niki sits up as Vendetta strolls into the room. His movements are languid, slow and earnest. He stops between both of their beds, staring down at the nightstand. His chest rises and falls as he stands there, motionlessly. Niki shares a look with Techno. The villain shrugs his shoulders, putting his finger in his spot as he closes his book. Niki reaches out from her bed. She manages to snag Vendetta's hand. She wraps her fingers around his palm. His body shifts with the motion, and Niki brings the hand to her lap. Vendetta follows, sinking to the ground beside her bed. He puts his head on the comforter. Niki switches which of her hands is holding Vendetta's hand so that she might comfortably put a hand in his hair. Vendetta does not react to either motion, so Niki starts to play with his hair.

As she continues, she's reminded of another lifetime. She had known a blonde little boy with hair as golden as Vendetta's. That little boy loved having his hair played with. He would curl up in her lap, refusing to move until he was satisfied. She would sigh fondly and indulge the little boy. Niki smiles despite herself, tears rising to her eyes. She doesn't reminisce about Tommy as much as she should. It always makes her heart burn, but she does find some happiness in the good times.

"He was probably trying to check up on us. I should have assumed he would feel guilty about this," Techno whispers with a sigh. Niki casts a glance at him. Techno was the one who did the most research about Vendetta when Ranboo proposed forming an alliance with him. Of course, Vendetta was always on Techno's radar, so Niki guessed that Techno would consider himself the most knowledgeable about the subject that is Vendetta.

Niki looks back at Vendetta. She doesn't know him nearly as well, but she somehow knew that Vendetta would feel guilty about this, too. If he clung to guilt from ten years ago, he would harbor it from earlier that day. Not like Niki can criticize him for it. She still feels guilty for letting Tommy run away that day. She should have gone after him instead of letting her resentment blind her.

"I'm okay," Niki whispers to Vendetta. As expected, he doesn't respond to her. His heartbeat remains the same, so he doesn't even relax at the claim. It makes Niki feel better saying it, however, as she continues running a hand through his hair.

Techno grunts as he slides his legs off the bed. He puts his weight on the floor. He walks across the room, and he picks Vendetta up off the floor. Vendetta's hand is gently pulled out of Niki's hand, and her hand falls away from his hair. She presses her lips together in a frown as Techno adjusts Vendetta's weight in his arms. Something lurches in her stomach as Techno turns away from her. He walks towards the door, and the feeling grows worse. Niki knows that she'll regret saying this, but she also knows that she will regret not saying anything.

"Wait," She whisper-yells. Techno halts, looking over his shoulder at her. Niki shifts in the bed. She scoots over, making space right beside her.

Techno raises an eyebrow at her. "Are you sure?"

Niki is being given an out. She should take it. She really shouldn't be indulging in memories right now. She shouldn't be trusting Vendetta, either. But the thought of him leaving right now when he came all this way because he was worried so much that he subconsciously came here makes Niki's heart hurt. She feels like she's watching Tommy run out of the warehouse again, the door slamming behind him. Wilbur sighed after Tommy left, completely distraught. He wanted to go after Tommy. Niki told him that Tommy would stop throwing a tantrum and come back to the warehouse within an hour. The warehouse blew up in that hour, and Tommy returned to them as a corpse.

"It will be fine. I don't mind, and he'll probably end up here again, anyway," Niki rationalizes. Techno doesn't respond as he places Vendetta down on the bed. Niki drops the comforter on him. She wraps her arms around his shoulders. Vendetta shifts in his sleep, turning on his side. Niki also lies on her side, so she's facing him. Niki tucks Vendetta beneath her chin, holding him in her arms. She's reminded of Tommy. She would always sleep with him like this.

After the explosion, it was just Niki and Jack. The trauma activated her power, turning her into an esper in time to keep Jack's heart beating. They slept in the same bed in a dingy apartment as they became vigilantes and got proper jobs. After she was taken by the Syndicate, she slept alone. It was a distressing time in her life, and that probably led to her identity getting exposed. She was grateful for it, though. She thought everyone else was dead, so seeing Wilbur alive filled her with hope. They eventually got Jack back. During this time, the three of them slept together like old times. Niki was the first one to notice how healthy it was. She literally could not sleep without them. They slowly separated from each other, and now Niki sleeps just fine on her own. Sometimes, one of them would go find one of the others because they were anxious or stuck in the past or had a nightmare. Niki allowed it in moderation.

She hasn't slept with someone like this, though. Jack slept beside her with a few feet between them. They would start out holding each other's hands, but they would let go by morning. Wilbur held Niki against his chest, keeping his arms around her as if to protect her. It's been a long time since she's held someone like she was trying to protect them or let someone hear her heartbeat instead of the other way around. It was nice, in a way, if not for the memories that came to her. She misses Tommy. She always will, she thinks, but it seems stronger tonight for some reason. She doesn't even know why Vendetta reminds her of Tommy. It can't just be the hair, can it?

Niki doesn't know, and she's too tired to think. She just closes her eyes. Tears fall onto her pillow as she drifts off to sleep. Her dreams are surprisingly pleasant.