Reckless: Season 2: Memories - Act 3
by redmoon
Memories - Act 3
“Ooh, more palmy goodness...” Jessica snatched Niki’s hand and stared down at it very pointedly. Her eyebrows shot up and she smirked. “Gettin’ busy, aren’t we?”
Niki pulled her hand away with a frown. “I need to know more about the Deceivers... or the Deception or whatever it is.”
Jessica folded her hands and shrugged. “I’ve told you everything I can — everything I know,” she corrected hastily. “You have to find someone you trust to keep you from doing things which might get you into trouble.”
“Well, who can I trust?” the Slayer demanded. She looked around the mall as the odd person strolled past. “Everyone’s gone.” She frowned and leaned closer to the seer. “Can I trust you?”
Jessica laughed out loud. “Ha! No. The last thing I need is a Slayer hanging around – I have enough trouble as it is.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “Some Council agents were by earlier asking about you. You can’t come around here any more.”
Niki frowned. “Well... can’t you tell me anything? Who the person is who summoned the Decption? Or, where Whistler is: I haven’t seen him since the party.”
Jessica shrugged. “Sorry, don’t know either. That’s not how this works.” She seemed quite unconcerned about the Slayer’s troubles.
Niki scowled and stood, her eyes narrowing. “Well thanks anyway,” she said coldly as Jessica turned to the next customer.
Niki took a taxi back to her apartment. She rode the elevator in resentful silence and marched angrily to her door. Sliding her key into the lock, she turned and was annoyed to find the key wouldn’t turn.
“Changed the lock,” a voice said to her left. She pulled her key from the lock and glared at the superintendent who stood with a clipboard under his arm.
“Why?” the Slayer demanded, in no mood for this sort of thing.
“You’re three months behind on your rent,” he said unapologetically. Lifting the clipboard from under his arm, he showed her the document on top – her lease. “Read the fine print,” he said smugly, “you can come back tomorrow and pick up your stuff... or not, and the garbage men will pick it up.” He gave her a thumb to tell her to get lost.
When she didn’t move, the superintendent smirked and walked away. Niki fumed, her fist tightening. Since her mistrial, she had stopped getting cheques in the mail. She had only the money she had been saving from the silver she took from the Goths to pay for meals and taxi fare. Bills and rent had not been a priority. Fuck. It had been hot today and she had left her leather jacket in the apartment. Double fuck. When she could hold it in no longer, her fist met the door with a loud bang.
“Fuck,” Logan turned the key in the ignition again and again, hearing only a chugging sound. The little brown Pontiac had stalled outside of Matt’s house as Logan had been dropping his daughter off.
Logan popped the hood and slid out from behind the wheel to take a look at the engine. Probably the alternator. This was the last thing he needed. As he lifted the hood and peered into the dark depths of steel and rubber, he considered what a crapped out alternator would mean.
Since he had quit Wolfram and Hart, money had been an issue. Back in the fall, he had planned for a raise, planned for a new car, a college fund for Hanna... something nice for Rachel. But none of that was going to happen now.
Surprise, surprise; the mistrial had nearly ruined his reputation as a defense lawyer. Since he had quit his last firm, no other big firm would touch him. Even the Legal Aid didn’t call him back. After several months of unemployment, he had reluctantly returned to his old job. Small claims. Spending a depressingly large chunk of money to get listed, he went into business as an independent and hadn’t had a case since.
Things were tight, that was for sure, but Rachel was bringing in some money from her job at the hospital and they were getting by. The alternator was definitely crap. Logan had neither the money for a new one or for a tow home. He leaned in, searching for the offending part.
Spotting it, he laid his hand on it and closed his eyes. With a flash of yellow light, the alternator sprang to life and the engine roared. Alternative maintenance, Logan mused.
“I knew it!” a young voice said from behind him.
Shit. Logan slowly turned and closed the hood, taking a deep breath. Matt was standing, in a position to have seen over his shoulder the alternative maintenance Logan had just performed.
“You are a wizard! Or a sorcerer or something...” the kid’s face was bright as he considered the ramifications.
Logan too was considering the ramifications, trying to think of a way of diffusing this before it got out of hand. “Look, Matt, I don’t know what you think you saw, but—”
“No, it’s okay,” the boy laughed, running his hand through his blond hair. Logan realized Matt looked a lot like he did when he was that age. “It’s good,” he said excitedly. “It means you understand. I can tell you the secret.”
A troubled look brewed on the lawyer’s face. “What secret?”
Hanna watched the two of them through the bay window inside Matt’s livingroom. She loved how strong Matt always appeared – how independent and fearless. The only thing she loved more was watching him and her father together. Not because Logan tore Matt down, but because he strained all of Matt’s defenses, gave him a real fear before which he could be fearless. And it was amusing to the extreme.
Hanna munched on the pizza Matt had ordered (as usual) and watched the conversation. Sometimes it was particularly exciting, because Logan was trying to hide his magic stuff from everyone and Matt was always suspicious: he was the only one she knew, besides Hanna’s mother, who could make Logan squirm.
Suddenly she stopped, mid-chew. Logan had started actually yelling and Matt looked terrified. He went running back to the house and Logan followed, bursting through the front door seconds after Matt.
Hanna dropped the pizza in shock as Matt rushed past her and took her hand in his. She looked with confusion from her boyfriend to Logan, who stood by the door, facing them and looking very angry.
“Hanna,” he said through a thin veil of calm, “get in the car.”
She sagged. “But I just got here,” she protested. She felt Matt’s grip on her hand tighten as Logan stepped forward, threateningly.
“Get. In. The. Car.” He pointed a quivering finger out the window to the idling car. “Now!”
Hanna looked worriedly to Matt who was, himself, quite worried. Finally she swallowed and pulled her hand from his, walking carefully to the car and getting in the back seat. From there she saw more yelling through the bay window, followed by Logan storming out of the house and marching towards the car, very pissed.
He slammed the driver’s door closed and drummed his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel as he waited for the right words to come. Fuck it, he thought. “Hanna, you’re never seeing him again.”
The girl’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped. “Are you... kidding me!?” she demanded, anger exploding in her voice. “Why?”
Logan threw the car into gear and stepped on the gas without a word. Hanna quickly turned and pressed her hand to the car’s window. Through it she could see Matt standing at the bay window, looking back at her. She watched him until the car careened around the first corner it came to and he was out of sight.
Hanna whipped her gaze forward to Logan’s eyes as he watched her in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes narrowed and her voice quivered. “I hate you,” she said through clenched teeth.
Averting his gaze, Logan lost his daughter’s eyes. He swallowed. The was really the last thing he needed. Something that couldn’t be fixed with alternative maintenance.
Niki stood at the ATM, carefully counting the twenties. She didn’t dare look at the remaining balance in her bank account. Tucking the wad of cash back in her pocket, she turned and hailed a taxi. Considering how much she payed the cabbies of New York City, they should at least give her a free ride once and a while.
“Queens,” she said simply, shuddering to think how much a trip from Jersey to Queens would cost. She just hoped she’d have enough left for a prophet.
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