AN: aaand we're back to this... you know the drill by now. tw: child abuse, mention of off-screen sexual abuse. 6.2K word chapter coming your way SORRY!

January 2005

Long Game

THE OPEN FIELD WAS MERELY LIGHTENED with a harsh white light emitted from a LED bar, the dirt beneath Robin's shoes seeming to adopt a grey color as opposed to the dark brown she would catch on the surface under the beam of the sun.

The hessian sack was slumped several feet away from where she stood, riddled with holes around the red cross marked on its top center.

She ground her jaw when her shoulder twinged. It felt like almost an hour since she'd been standing in the same rigid stance, right shoulder back and hands wrapped around the rifle, fingers tight against the steel weaponry.

"Your aim is wrong," he remarked from next to her, voice steady. "You need to rest the back of it against your shoulder, you'll feel less of the weight and your body will absorb the recoil."

Robin rolled her shoulder, pulling the weapon up and sliding it back to rest it on the joint of her shoulder and upper arm.

"Good. Now, lean against the stock. Yes. Relax but keep the grip firm."

She did as ordered, realizing she had a better sight of her target instead of the blurry shot she had been working with. At the sight of the red mark, a surge of adrenaline curled her finger and squeezed the trigger, the sound of the bullet blasting trickled through her ear, muffling the drill of the fabric before her.

Missed.

"Shoot when you're ready. Don't act on impulse."

A second, third, fourth shot, and still no result. He commanded her to shoot again, and again. Her seventh barely grazed the tail of the cross. Her eyes strained open, unblinking as she aimed and fired, aimed and fired. The sudden resolve to reach its center preceded breathing.

"Halt."

She stopped, pushing herself upright and twisting to face him. His chin tipped up. This is the part where she should draw her weapon back. She didn't. A gripping feeling tightened the muscles in her arms, rendering her frozen on the spot. Her eyes flicked down to the barrel, and, consumed by the uninhibited rush, she pulled the rifle up and aimed.

His lip twitched up, only briefly. Slowly, steadily, he approached her. Her face remained vacant, eyes fixed through the lens, and her fingers numb.

He crouched down to her height, his finger touching the muzzle, pulling the barrel down.

"Maybe one day," was all he said in a soft murmur, looking at her with eyes full of distant longing. He blinked, and it vanished. "Hand it over." She did. "Stand by the target." She was already moving.

She turned to face him, watching him put the rifle away and pull out a revolver from the holster strapped to his hip.

"Tell me what you learned two weeks ago."

Her body grew cold. "Holding breath under water."

"Hm. That's right, controlled drowning. You've been doing your breathing exercises?"

"Yes." He cocked his head. She ground her jaw. "Yes, sir."

"Good. And last week?"

"Surveying fired shots."

Surveying was one way to put it. He had her stand before a target board as he shot around her so she could get a better view of the bullet blasting out of the muzzle, and with enough practice, be able to tell its precise direction.

"How are you in your blinking exercises?"

"Four minutes twenty seconds."

The harsh line of his lips curled down. "It should be six."

"I'll try harder, sir."

"Very good. Now. Let me teach you Russian roulette." He adjusted the revolver so she could see it from the side. "I'm going to leave a single bullet in this gun. You follow my aim, and you dodge. It's an open field you've got nowhere to hide, so you should try to reach me while I shoot." He swung the cylinder out, dropping the bullets on top of his open palm and picking one to show her. "Single bullet," he repeated, inserting the one round. He flicked his wrist to swing the cylinder closed. He looked straight at her, his hollow eyes mirroring hers. "You won't be able to tell when it's coming, so you should dodge regardless. Don't leave anything to chance."

"What if you get me?"

"Your opponent will have a second to readjust his aim while you zig-zag. Never run in a straight line, remember."

"What if you get me," she repeated, face made of stone but voice increasing in octave.

"More of a reason to dodge fast." He lifted his arm up, gun aiming at her legs. "I'll keep the lights on this time."

The sound of the pulled trigger rippled through the silence.

Cell doors rutted shut, locks clashed, metal grated against metal, and shrilled.

The racket punctured Robin's ears at the heart of the precinct. She leaned back against the chair, its cotton fabric worn out, resting her cheek on her palm as she tried to tune out the bustling of officers, the rustling of paper, and the ringing of phones. The commotion was nothing compared to the officer opposite her though, whose mouth ran for the past twenty minutes while Robin stared at the calendar, bored out of her mind, taking in the coffee stains on the edges of the booklet and the red ink that circled today's date, March 3rd.

"Well, isn't that Robin Hood?" A shrill pulled her back to the scene, eyes landing on a woman in her grey uniform, grinning from ear to ear. "Been a while, thought you might've calmed down." If she wasn't in the middle of swallowing her coffee, Robin assumed she would've emitted the horrible sound of her laugh, a high-pitched cackle that had her eardrums bleeding.

"If only," said Officer Dawson, the one she'd been stranded next to his desk since he hauled her into the precinct. "Found her trying to cross the border this time."

"To Darwin? What sort of business you got there, sugar?" She arched a tattooed brow, features set into a disappointed scowl. "You know the risks. You're lucky Officer Soft here is letting you off as usual with a warning. Don't think the next one will be too kind."

Robin's body felt heavy, her lids drooping low and what felt like drool trickled through the corner of her mouth. She wondered when her case worker, Janet, was coming around. She could imagine the look on her face already; the last time she had run away from her previous foster home, Janet had threatened to put her in a group home as if it would be worse than getting a taste of hell judging from the tears glazing her eyes and the sob that choked out of her throat. She had proceeded to pull her into the tightest embrace Robin had ever suffered.

"You know she's right, kid." Officer Dawson's tone shifted, barely concealed chagrin evident on the wrinkles of his forehead.

Robin didn't really care for it. Maybe she did try to trespass into Darwin, maybe she did pick the corner she knew Officer Soft patrolled so she would get into lesser trouble had she been caught, and maybe she didn't mind the warmth of the precinct that smelled like sweat and burnt ash and the McDonald's meal she had just devoured. He was wasting his time feeling sorry for her.

"How old are you now?" He tried a different approach.

She didn't have a date of birth. She didn't even know birth certificates existed, let alone celebration of birthdays. One time Miss Pixie, the purple-haired caretaker at the orphanage, came up to her with a muffin enclosed in her palms and a lightened candle singing the happy birthday song, pretending her birthday was in mid-November. Robin had stared at her for the entire verse, blinking once when asked to 'blow the candle'. Miss Pixie's face had fallen in mild horror when Robin had pointed out she didn't have a gun. That was a joke, of course, but her humor hadn't been well received.

"Fourteen," she answered in a drawl.

"Ah. You're a nineties kid. Had a daughter like you." His lips quirked up, and Robin looked away to avoid the longing welling up in his eyes. It wasn't the first time he mentioned her, but he would retell it like it was. "She's not dead you know," he added like she cared for details. "I went back from the cemetery today, still no grave." He smiled, and she thought back to today's date circled on his calendar. "And anyway, people are always alive. They live forever! You know how?" No answer came. "They live right here." His index tapped the left side of his chest.

He enjoyed talking to her like she was still the eleven-year-old runaway child he found pickpocketing jewelry out of upper-class Fairfordians.

She had been used by now to his long talks about the dead and the dying, about the living and struggling. He wasn't so bad, though. He would order her food when he brought her to the precinct. Sometimes, she would slurp her drink loud enough to tune him out, a hint he would purposely miss.

"Listen, kid..." He began, employing that tone he always used whenever he had more life lessons to drill into her brain. "I don't know what's holding you back from accepting help. Darwin might be your home, your people, but you can't have an easy life there, especially on your own." Robin wanted to argue that having someone had brought her nothing but scars and burns. "Right now, you're vulnerable, and Hayes Home is giving you an opportunity to pick yourself up on your two feet. Take advantage of that. When you're of legal age, you could do whatever you want - within the law, of course. You wouldn't have to deal with me anymore. Not your guardians, not even Janet."

She quietly mulled over his words. He smiled. "Play the long game."

April 2011

Savior

The chandelier glittered under the beaming rays of the sun filtering through the heavy drapes that framed the tall window.

"Darling, don't bite your nails," her mother's voice held a sharp edge, pushing Christina to tuck her fingers under her dress.

"Sorry, mom."

She slid her bruised fingers under her thighs, eyes casting to her mother who sat on the blue Chesterfield velvet settee next to Uncle Laurel, hand steady as she placed the porcelain teacup back on top of the saucer.

"Bloody Darwinites..." her mother huffed, eyes flickering to the screen of the television where the news channel, Fairford TV, showcased a bank robbery. Christina swallowed in unease, tears brimming the corner of her eyes. "Don't fret now. Your father will be fine." Her mother turned to face her uncle. "All the branches and they choose this one. Maybe that's well deserved. You know he's been sleeping with that low-class Darwinite at the bar he frequents? Yeah. Thinks he's being discreet. What did I say about biting your nails? Shoulders back."

Her reproach jolted Christina to upright her posture, pursing her lips and clasping her hands together on her quivering knees. Martha, their housemaid, appeared from the doorway to place a golden newly made teapot on the table, its steam swirling from the spout.

"Martha darling, get me the pills next to my bed. I think I'm coming down with a headache." Her mother pressed the back of her hand against her temple, her diamond ring shining. She leaned back against the buttoned cushion, almost ruining the meticulous updo she fashioned, Christina's braid paling in comparison.

"Lie down, Penelope, you know anger only messes with your blood sugar." Her uncle leaned forward to curl his fingers around the teapot's handle. "More tea?"

"Ah, look." Her mother's hunched figure sprung forward. "They released the hostages. Look, Christina, there's your dad on the screen. Look how he's been crying," she noted while taking the cup her brother offered. "You'd think the owner of the bank should have an image to uphold. Pathetic."

Christina's relief was short-lived, however, when her mother decided to ramble some more about the rioting Darwinites and their insufferable disturbances, her uncle chiming in about further politics and the rising opposition against the Hunters despite all the good things they had done for this country.

"Nonsense." Her mother shook her head in revulsion. "It's all a conspiracy. Surely those radicals at Fairford University raising all the needless commotion. Young adults speak against the ruler while they didn't even witness how things used to be. I would walk the streets and barely feel like I'm in Europe!"

She would speak of Dominic Hunter, his endless sacrifices and strategic planning to right a system that had failed its people. She would speak about him, Christina noticed, like he was a God, some myth, a legend that pulled the people out of their demise. She had the gold, blue and red colors of the Fairford flag splattered across the rooms, the eagle symbol engraved in furniture, and pictures of the mayor framed and hung on multiple surfaces of their house, on top of the fireplace, by the dining table, in the bedroom... Christina was taught to admire their savior, to admire him, to practice the national anthem, and to learn her country's history.

'He put hope in the people,' her mother would say. And Christina wondered as she met the unmoving features of Dominic Hunter by the fireplace, eyes cold and distant behind framed glasses, lips set into a grim line if it were truly the case.

July 2011

A Deal

"Shit. Shit!"

Joe thought the worst part of her risky plan was sneaking into Hayes Home to retrieve files. She had done it countless times before, seeing as their security system was frail and anyone would easily infiltrate the building. Having found Romana, Violet, and Zuhair's addresses, she was planning to make the stops today. The last thing on her mind was getting chased down the street by Fairfordian guards, their batons held up threateningly.

In retrospect, it was her fault. She had been angry, tears streaking down her cheeks and her voice coarse as she screamed at the top of her lungs to relieve the ache she was feeling in her chest. The lifeless body of Romana flashed in her mind now every time she blinked.

She'd been following the directions of the address marked on her file, running and hopping between closed-knit rooftops to reach her destination. She had to make sure each and every one of them was safe; they had been struggling with a horrible streak of news, finding themselves powerless and unable to do anything to help - and Romana was the top of the iceberg. Coming face to face with wide vacant eyes in the basement as she climbed inside the dark house had landed a crushing realization in her gut of how useless she was. She couldn't even prosecute the bastards that stole a life because the house had been empty, she couldn't even wait for them to show up because now she had to find the rest, fighting to make it on time.

In her fit of rage, guards had found her, and when she ran, they bolted after her.

Her chest heaved, her breathing erratic, and her eyes swollen. The heat wasn't doing anything to cool her nerves, despite the sun setting on the horizon to shield her from the inferno. Her feet tripped and knocked against cobblestones, strained arms pushing her body up on roofs to widen the distance. She was far from the borders, and the guards following her could cause the rest of Hunters' Dogs to riot and blow her entire cover.

She blindly followed the trail of her next destination, legs, and stomach protesting when she veered in a different direction. She had memorized the streets by now, able to map the region in her mind. Violet's foster home was the closest to her current location - that should be her next stop. Her jaw locked as another sob threatened to tear out of her throat. She didn't think she could handle another tragedy.

Be safe. Please. Be safe.

She hid behind the safety of the bushes that ornated the one-story house, her eyes peeking through the leaves to watch them as they maneuvered around alleyways.

Her entire body froze when she heard rustling behind her, face slowly angling to look back.

A man stood right before her, eyes wide as he looked down at her. Joe blinked, unable to move for a moment. Realizing she had been caught, her feet jammed against the grass to bolt forward.

He was older than her, so she assumed she'd have the advantage in reflexes - but he was fast to catch her regardless.

"Hey, hey!" Despite the urgency in his voice, it remained low, a desperate hush as he latched onto her arm and pushed her back down.

He met her eye for a moment, inspecting her state with his brows pulled in confusion. His gaze snapped up, his features transforming into a schooled expression as he pushed her back forcefully behind the bushes despite her restraint. She froze at the sound of the approaching guards, eyes widened when the man released her to stand upright.

"Good evening, Dr. Hayes," one of the guards greeted and Joe sneered at the name. She still didn't know what to feel about Violet ending up with a filthy-rich upperclassman.

"Good evening, officers," he replied evenly, voice betraying nothing. Joe curled her body, eyes darting to make an escape if things turned out for the worst.

"We're looking for a kid that's been running around the streets. Darwinite. Brown hair, shoulder-length, probably eighteen. Have you seen her?"

The man before her shook his head, frown pulling his brows together. "Afraid not."

"A'right." The second one sighed. "Sorry for taking your time."

"No worries." He waved back at their receding figures. "Keep up the good work," he said, smiling but it didn't reach his eyes.

Dazed, Joe took the hand he offered, following him inside the house. She gradually submerged herself from her shock when she found herself sitting on a chair, a warm meal positioned in front of her, and a glass of cold water.

She blinked when he took the seat opposite her, scrambling to her feet and baring her teeth.

"Calm down," he spoke, voice gentle and opened palms raised. "I'm not going to hurt you. Please do eat."

"Where's Vi?" She hissed, fingers closing around the knife strapped to her waist. Her heart leaped when she sensed the cool metal under the pad of her thumb, glad the idiot didn't even think to strip her of her weapons.

The man before her, Andrew Hayes, froze, brows inching up. He stared back at her for a minute before he said, "You're here for Violet."

"That's what I said," she snarled.

"Are you Joe, then?"

She froze, gripping the knife tight between her palm.

"How do you-"

"She talks a lot about you," he was quick to say, looking down at his warm mug and seeming unfazed by the display of the weapon. "About Lizzie, Jeremy, Penny, and Romana," he cited each name, and with each name came the dread that punctured her gut. "Will it make you feel better if you saw her?"

He led her to a dark hallway, moving to a closed door. Joe's body was stiff and her muscles were pulled tight, the fear crawling up her spine at what awaited her. Andrew pulled the handle down slowly, stepping inside and pulling the door wide open to make way for her.

Joe's shoulders unwind, warmth liquifying her rigid features at the sight of Violet's dark hair matting the pillow, her eyes closed, and features soft in the dim light of the lamp by the bed. She stepped closer, needing to confirm her safety as her fingers hovered above her nose. Relief flooded her entire body at the feel of her warm breath against her skin, and her fingers, caked with mud and blood, curled around the smoothness of her hair, pulling them away from her face.

She pulled herself away with barely restrained effort, stepping outside the bedroom with Andrew in tow.

"You're raising her alone?" The choked words escaped her lips once the door closed, the back of her palm furiously wiping away stray tears. "What are you, a pedo?"

Andrew chuckled, moving back to the open kitchen. "It's not on my criminal record." Joe's glare hardened behind him. "I'm kidding."

"It's not funny!" She croaked, glowering at him from the hallway.

He turned to her, gesturing at her previous seat. "Please eat."

With some resistance and her roaring stomach betraying her, Joe finally caved and dug into the warm food, realizing it had been so long since she last had a proper meal. They'd been living off canned food and bread for the past few years. Nico's income, as well as some of Zachary's and Otto's, and Ursula's, were not doing much for the starving kids that roamed Burlington. They felt like a burden, helpless when faced with the harsher months of winter.

"There's more if you need," Andrew pointed out and she barely heard him through the sounds of her scuffing and gulping down food and water. Her eyes narrowed at the restrained amusement in his eyes.

"Fuck off."

He chuckled, turning the look out the nearest window, realizing it was now dark outside. "It's late," he stated. "Please stay the night. There's warm water to shower and a vacant room. Unless you prefe-"

"I'm not staying," she cut him off, mouth full. "Though am taking that food with me."

Andrew's mouth closed, his eyes steady as he surveyed her. "How old are you?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Seventeen."

He nodded, taking a minute before he spoke. "Let me help you out, Joe."

She sputtered out a laugh, downing her food with another gulp of her water before she dropped the glass down with a loud thud. "Explain to me why I'd let a rich-ass Fairfordian like you 'help me out'," she quoted with her fingers, pushing the now empty plate away from her.

"Because you look like you need it," he replied evenly, a soft smile pulling at his lips as he inspected the messiness of her dark hair, the bruises along her nose and jaw, and the dirtiness of her clothes.

"Don't pity me like I'm a stray dog," she grumbled. "Listen, pal. I know who you are." She leaned back, crossing her arms on her stomach. "You own the shitty orphanage that ruined our lives. If it wasn't for your fucking Home, I wouldn't have to be running around checking off names."

A somber look shadowed his features for a moment, lips curling down. "I'm sorry."

"Save your apologies, asshole."

"You're right. I thought I was doing something good, but it backfired. Many suffered horrible consequences, even if it is a small statistic in-"

"Lives aren't statistics."

"I know." He heaved a sigh, shaking his head once and leaning forward to meet her eye. "But listen to me. I'm offering you a deal. You're still under the legal age, I can adopt you-"

"Fuck. Off."

"-You can have Fairford residency," he continued. "You can work a part-time job here, you can buy food, medicine, anything you need."

Her eyes stretched wide. "You'd think I'd give up my family for what you assholes call a pristine lifestyle?"

"That's not what I'm saying. Let me finish," he insisted, determination glazing the deep blue of his irises. "You can do whatever you want with whatever you have. I won't stop you from crossing the borders, but you do it right. I'll get you permits, for as long as you need. You can come and go. You don't even have to stay here."

Suspicion irked her gut, her defenses flying up. "What do you want in return?"

"Nothing."

Her eyebrows shot up, another high-pitched cackle escaping her lips. "Nothing?" She sputtered out.

He nodded, face resolute. "Nothing."

She considered it for a moment, thinking over his offer and trying to find the loophole. Confusion was clouding her thoughts, and she visibly struggled before him. "Why? Why would you offer something like this?"

His eyes never wavered when he answered. "I do what I can."

The process was tedious and groveling, but Joe went through it all nonetheless. As promised, Andrew didn't meddle in anything she did, he didn't even ask or reproach her about her whereabouts and break-ins into the house at ungodly hours of the night.

It was all conflicting, all gnawing at her conscience despite the many benefits it provided her. She would work part-time at a job he secured for her at a university café, seconds away from clawing her eyeballs out with every minute, and she would go back to Burlington in the afternoon for her shift at Nico's bar. It wasn't enough, but it was still better. Kaden had been absent a lot lately too, and it added to her list of things to worry about.

It was well past midnight when she and Nico locked the bar after cleaning up, and she walked the path back home with her head hung low.

"Hey."

She tipped her chin up, shoulders relaxing at the sight of Kaden sitting by the edge of the small fountain between an intersection of roads, one leg hanging on the outside while the other curled before him. He offered a wry smile.

She made her way to him, dropping her bag by her feet and ruffling his hair. "Hey." She smiled, flopping next to him, and turning so her back rested against his. She heaved a long sigh.

"Rough day?" He piped up. She chuckled.

"You can say so." Her head angled to look at him from the corner of her eye, although he wasn't visible. "You?"

"Mm."

She propped her head on his shoulder, chin tipping up to stare at the rocks above. It had been a rough day, and what made it worse was when the words spread of her newest residency. People had been judging her, glowering at her, one even spit on her as she walked by. She had lashed out then and had given him a proper beating, but the realization her own people turned on her was agonizing - although to them, she did too. She felt like she was hanging by a thread, no longer accepted in any space she occupied.

Her lips twitched up when Kaden's head eased onto her shoulder too.

"You think we're doing the right thing? ...in general?" She mumbled, lids heavy from exhaustion.

It took him a moment before he answered. "I don't know." His voice was low, uncertain. "No one knows what the outcome could have been if we did things differently."

He heaved a sigh, allowing himself to close his eyes.

"We do what we can."

October 2014

Better Off

Kaden had always been well aware of his weaknesses, of his powerlessness and uselessness in the face of their struggle.

It had been a looming presence in the wake of his mother's death; that he and Joe had become a burden to the people around them. Another mouth to feed.

He had done his first ever job when he was thirteen, and it was all coincidental. One of the customers from the bar had offered to give him five dollars if he agreed to listen in on a conversation at the adjacent table and report back. He'd agreed because he needed the money, and one customer led to another, five bucks turned into ten, then twenty as he grew older until he charged enough for a month's worth of food.

He had started hanging around alleys and bars at night. The money people would pay for irrelevant pieces of information was a concept that still astounded him to this day. The older he got, the riskier it became. He had been known as the kid with the information when he was younger. Skinny rat. But as he aged, it became more dangerous to steer away from trouble.

He had got himself nasty scars because of it, burn marks even. He had put his fighting skills to good use, had sharpened his instincts.

Every job was threatening. Every one of them was a risk. But he took them anyway. The advantages it brought were worth the sacrifice. No more cutting back on food. No more counting and worrying about the bills. Gone were the anxious looks whenever one forgot the light on, needed to use the water for too long, or start coughing. Joe took fewer shifts and came back at least at night to spend more time with them.

It made him feel at ease.

But the bigger the sum, the more he was willing to do to get it.

Rules were what kept Kaden somewhat sane in situations like these, somewhat in control even though in hindsight, he wasn't.

He would feel disgust and shame. He would shower more frequently, sometimes three to four times a day, scrubbing his skin raw until it was splotched red. He wouldn't allow the strangers to touch him, stopped them whenever they leaned closer for a kiss - as if those rules could help him gain back control, could make it any better.

One time, he had accidentally recoiled when Joe reached for him, and it was like watching her entire world fall apart the moment she caught his instinctive reaction.

"Why did you flinch?" She had asked, voice a mere whisper, eyes stretched wide in bewilderment.

Kaden had blanched. He hadn't known what to say.

"Kaden." Her voice had quivered. "Do you-are you... are you selling yourself for-"

"No," he had been quick to deny, although... he was, wasn't he? It was for the information, and the information... it got him the money.

The cold air nipped at his cheeks once he emerged from the building. It was barely five o'clock in the morning, the clouds clearing out to make way for the few slits of light that announced the sun's rise. The street was vacated, with not a single presence roaming the empty roads. His eyes did a quick inspection - not even guards.

He was quick on his feet, fastening his pace to get back home as his skin irked, desperately in need of a shower. He would have to take the cliff again tonight, and he reveled in the thought that the mud could ease some of his irritation.

The sound of footsteps rapping against the ground pulled his chin up to follow the source of noise in the quietude of the early morning.

He was about to turn away but the adrenaline that suddenly gripped his body made him take a double look.

His eyes widened, mind thinking he might be so, so utterly wrong. Doubt clawed at his chest, gaze unwavering as he took in the sight of her, jogging in the opposite direction, towards him. She was facing forward, hair tied away from her face and sweat dripping down her forehead. She was so close now, so close he could see the wrinkles in her forehead, the red stains under her eyes, the grim line of her lips.

Robin.

He opened his mouth, just as she passed by him, not sparing him a glance. He turned, wanting to reach for her arm but finding himself rooted to the ground. His heart leaped to his throat, his feet moving forward. He could catch up to her. He could still catch up to her.

Stop.

He halted, lips curling down as the repercussions of calling out to her flashed in his mind, sinking his gut.

She was better off.

He kept up the cycle that ultimately grew his self-loathing - until he met her. A stranger contacted him after hearing of his previous jobs. She told him she'd pay good money in exchange for his investigative skills. She would even provide protection through anonymity. He knew if he was exposed, people wouldn't come for his head - but for his family's. For him, it seemed like a safe business transaction, an open door for him to start on a clean slate, to be able to reach higher.

Kaden was relatively quiet, but he was perceptive to the subtle things. He had caught a glimpse of Ollie's anatomy schoolbook right before the latter had shoved it under the pillow in fear of getting caught. He had noticed Lizzie feeding leftovers to the stray cats outside the door before she would run inside thinking he was Joe. He had noticed Jeremy's pile of crumpled sketches in the bin along with the grey smudges that somehow reached under his fingernails. Taking this job meant he would be able to provide a future for them, one where they wouldn't feel like frauds, where they would go through the process like they deserved to, even if he didn't particularly agree with the administrative procedures.

It could have been six years now that he felt stable, he wasn't so sure. Time flew by when things ran smoothly.

"I've got a little intel for you."

Kaden's eyes slid to where Spencer sat on the stool next to him, her lips quirked in a sly smirk. He waited for her to finish inhaling the smoke of her cigarette so she could speak again.

"She's finishing her second year of medical school. She's not bad apparently. Part of the top ten in her class... a little hostile though."

"A simple 'she's okay' would've been fine. I don't want the details."

After the day he saw Robin, mixed thoughts had been gnawing at his conscience. It felt wrong of him to withhold their existence from her, and he had been so close, he could have caught up to her. But, he was also aware that nothing good would come of it. He wanted her to have peace. He didn't want them to be a dead weight.

Spencer's brother had gotten into a car accident a few years back, and Kaden had covered the hospital bills. She had insisted on paying him back ever since despite his persistence to let it go. He would refuse to take money from her, and she had demanded he asked her a favor so she could pay him back. He had hated her willingness, pointedly telling her she didn't owe anyone anything. After months of avoiding her like the plague, he had finally caved and asked her to look after a woman called Robin Jenkins. He didn't want the details, didn't even ask about them - all he wanted was the reassurance that she was doing okay.

"No details? Huh. I gotta ask though, when do you plan on talking to her? Or do you just enjoy stalking? If you have different intentions I have to know. It's been a few years since and it's creepy if I'm being honest."

He didn't answer for a while.

Truth was, he didn't know why he was keeping an eye out still, after so long. He wanted to say that she was the only one left. Violet was already with Joe, they knew how she was doing. The rest were long gone. Did it matter to still know she was doing okay while she had probably forgotten about them altogether?

He didn't know.

But he couldn't let go. Not just yet.

The sound of the steel dustpan grinding against marble drifted in the cemetery, Kaden hunched before one of the gravestones as he cleared the remaining dirt from its surface. Once done, he took the watering can to wash it. He would do it every once in a while, mainly to tear out the moss that would gather around the carved letters.

He'd make sure to pass every grave of the people he knew, even Liz, Nico's dog, until he finally reached his mother's.

His eyes flickered to the graves of his grandparents, Eymen and Asli Ozdemir, and uncle, Kaden, pulling his sleeves up when he noticed the mud coating them. He made another trip to fill out the can from the tap, reaching his mother's grave to water the sky-blue flowers that adorned her headstone.

"Forget me nots," Nico had mused at the sight of them during their earliest visits. "Those were your mother's favorites."

He had always wondered about those flowers, doubting it was purely out of coincidence they had bloomed next to his mother's grave and nowhere else in the entire cemetery.

After wiping down the marble with a cloth, he placed two fingers on his lips, and gently tapped her headstone.

He crouched down to gather his supplies in the bucket, moving to the next ones. Violet's mother and uncle. A small frown pulled at his brows when he noticed today was the remembrance of her mother - march third.

He positioned the bucket down, reaching for the dustpan but stopping short when he caught the white edges of a paper tucked neatly under a rock. His first intention was to pull it out of the way to not ruin it with water by mistake, but when his finger pinched the edge, his eyes caught Violet's name.

It was a letter.

________

Notes:

Sorry for this long backstory chapter but i realized i enjoy writing these T.T

Let me know what you think!!

Also!! this story will be featured on @StoriesUndiscovered for the month of April!!! they sent me a message but still didn't put it on their reading list lol they forgot about me

THANKS SO MUCH AS ALWAYS FOR ALL THE COMMENTS/VOTES THEY MAKE MY LIFE