Reckless: Season 2: Second Chances - Act 1
by redmoon
Second Chances - Act 1
Hanna had held onto the bitterness for days, her eyes cold and without forgiveness each time she looked to her father. But now she was different. She was bitter for a reason. Logan had forbidden her to see Matt, and she was secretly seeing him anyway. And everything was fine. Obviously her father was mistaken and couldn’t see it: couldn’t see that Matt was safe – that they loved each other. That was the reason for Hanna’s current glares each time Logan looked at her.
“Have a good day at school, sweetie,” Rachel handed her daughter her backpack and unlocked the front door.
“Thanks mom, I will,” Hanna smiled at her mother, opening the door and tossing a disdainful look to her father sitting in the living room. She was out the door and gone before Logan could open his mouth to speak.
As Rachel watched Hanna go, Logan set down the newspaper and drew a tired breath. “She’s never going to forgive me, is she?” Though the question was somewhat rhetorical, he expected at least some token support from the woman standing by the door.
Instead, Rachel just scoffed with contempt and returned to the kitchen. Any reason she should? he could hear her unspoken thoughts.
The fights were quieting down now. Looks of scorn, silences instead of words. The only time they raised their voices was to fight about little things. Late for dinner. Didn’t pick up eggs. Dishes aren’t done. Marriage is crumbling.
Logan reached for the paper, but as his fingers touched its surface he stopped. He closed his eyes and leaned back on the sofa, massaging his temples. Marriage is crumbling. What side of that argument would he end up on?
Niki looked out through bleary eyes to the grey light of a rainy morning. As the sun peeked between the clouds, she licked her dry lips and groaned, holding her throbbing head. Her internal clock told her it was time for coffee. Lots and lots of black coffee. But in this alley in Queens, outside of the demon bar, there was none to be had.
A pair of vampire eyes watched her hungrily from across the small patch of sunlight which divided the alley. He was waiting. Very patiently, it seemed.
The Slayer frowned and slowly got to her feet. Her head felt like a blimp and it was throwing off her balance. Her body hadn’t been prepared for the Stuff she had ingested last night. And it wasn’t a forgiving body.
With a frown of discomfort, Niki prepared herself to fight the creature in the shadow across the alley from her. She blinked and drew in a breath, stretching her stiff muscles.
The vampire also stood, his face growing bumpy and vampiric. He opened his mouth and grinned, showing off his array of pointed teeth. He motioned tauntingly for her to come to him as he tracked her along the alley, keeping the patch of sunlight between them.
Niki looked absently around for a piece of wood or some sort of weapon. Finding nothing, she stumbled towards the vamp on wobbly legs, steeling herself to take a beating. Indeed, his hand struck her across the face as soon as she entered the realm of shadow again. Niki blinked, holding her cheek.
“Uh,” she shook her head a little. It did wonders to wake her up. “Thanks,” she said groggily. Like lightening, she reached out and grabbed the vamp’s collar, pulling him down to the ground, his head caught right in the sunlight.
The vamp screamed and closed his eyes struggling against her grip, trying to get out of the sun. Instinctively, Niki turned to see what he was looking at and accidentally looked into the sun herself. With a groan, she let go of the vamp to cover her eyes, stumbling back into the shadow.
“Oh, crap, that’s painful.” Her head now throbbing much worse than before, she massaged her eyes, trying to rid herself of the green afterglow. With a slow sigh and visions of percolating coffee, she looked to the pile of dust where the vampire had been. “Though, I suppose it could be worse.”
Niki rode the bus back to Manhattan in silence, certain at least one third of those riding the bus were demons in disguise. She did what she did best when hung over and confronted with danger: she ignored it.
Getting off the bus near Park Avenue, she walked down the dull streets, the rain starting up again and soaking into her white T-shirt. Getting to her building, she saw boxes sitting by the curb. Oh yeah, she remembered: Eviction. She sat down on the curb between two of the larger boxes and laid her head in her hands.
Logan looked up from the mess of papers on the coffee table to the fern sitting on the end table. The papers were of the small claims variety and he knew he was damn lucky to get a case, but considering he had at one point been trying a murder case before a grand jury, he didn’t feel too lucky.
And the fern he was now looking at was dead.
Brown and shriveled, the poor plant had not been watered in weeks. Probably the subject of another argument he and Rachel would have. Or worse yet, the subject of another episode of silence. But not right now: Rachel had gone to work. He had the house to himself.
Lifting the fern to the table top, Logan arranged the brown fronds more aesthetically, succeeding only in letting the papery leaves crumble in his fingers. Letting the dead plant matter fall between his fingers, Logan refused to let the state of the plant get him down. It was just a plant. He narrowed his gaze and focused on it. Looking hard into the essence of the fern before him, he could sense that some part of it was still struggling for life.
Holding his hands over it, as if he were a priest who was blessing it, Logan closed his eyes and visualized the plant springing to life, becoming green and stretching out with strong, healthy leaves again. He could feel the hum of the electricity of his power, he felt his fingers trembling as the plant heard his commands.
Opening his eyes, his heart sank. As electricity danced between his fingers, the dry leaves and twigs began to smoke and smoulder. Within seconds, the little fern was a pile of glowing cinders.
Logan waved the smoke away from him, standing and walking towards the smoke detector. It would go off any second now, he knew. But it didn’t. Not a chirp. With a frown, Logan reached up and pressed the test button at its center. Nothing. Like the fern, the smoke detector had likely been ignored for weeks as well. Also probably his fault.
Tromping up the stairs, grateful for the break from the case, Logan went on a quest for a nine volt. He walked dejectedly into his shared bedroom and began opening drawers. There must be an unopened nine volt battery around here—
Logan search stopped as a glint of silver caught his eye at the back of one of the little used drawers. Reaching back, he took the silver chain and lifted the IXI bracelet from the drawer, its silver surface catching the sun as it peeked out from between the clouds.
Logan swallowed. He carefully set the thing on the dresser top and reached again into the back of the drawer. This time, his hand came out with an envelope. Open at one end, Logan didn’t even look at the address before sliding the letter out.
Dear Mrs. Kilpatrick,
We sincerely regret to inform you of an unfortunate business we have come upon while working with your husband, Logan Kilpatrick. Certain incontrovertible evidence has come to our attention which leads us to believe that Mr. Kilpatrick is not being faithful to your marriage. We understand it is not our place to interfere with your affairs in any way, but we thought it best that you at least be aware of what your husband does while working in our offices. As a responsible employer, this firm wants to promote a healthy employment environment and while it is not within out power to terminate Mr. Kilpatrick for his indiscretions, we find it morally objectionable to withhold this information from you. If you wish to meet with us at Wolfram and Hart to discuss this, we would keep it in the strictest confidence.
Sincerely and with regrets,
Tawnie Fischer,
Liaison to the Senior Partners of Wolfram and Hart, New York Branch.
As he read the letter, his dejected thoughts soon hardened into ones of anger. Fischer had hit him after all. She was dead and she was still hurting his family. He had been concerned with a literal attack, magic or demons, all this time sacrificing his family to protect them... and that was what Fischer had counted on all along.
Niki slowly began to pick through the boxed up remains of her life. There wasn’t as much as she had imagined. The furniture would probably be sold to pay the rent she owed. Was that even legal? Niki wasn’t interested in saving her furniture anyway. There was only one thing she wanted.
Tearing open a medium sized box, she shoved the other clothes aside and took hold of the tortured black leather. She pulled it from the box and slid it on. As much punishment as the jacket had taken from her —taken for her— it only ever felt more like home.
As she glanced with disinterest back into the box, she noticed something else. The whiteboard from the fridge sat at the bottom of the box, a message scrawled in someone else’s handwriting. Niki reached down with a frown and lifted it out, the words beginning to run in the light rain.
Go see Crowley the message said. Niki recognized the handwriting as Whistler’s. But who was Crowley? And why should she go see him?
As Niki wondered this, she turned back to the street and caught the spray from the tires of a passing bus. She swore and jumped back, still getting soaked.
You May Have Been Deceived! the billboard on the side of the bus informed her. Niki was frozen to the spot as the words sped past her. If you think you’ve been the victim of telephone fraud, our lawyers can help!
The man with the deep scar down his cheek slowly moved from customs to the crowd of the JFK terminal. Ten thousand pounds, he’d been promised. Not the most reputable organization that had promised it, granted, but he wasn’t the most trustworthy of agents either. In fact, he wasn’t an agent at all. He was a bounty hunter. Ten thousand pounds for the head of the Slayer. The Council certainly was serious.
He rolled his massive shoulders back and grinned as his stiff muscles awoke. Naturally, he had been permitted to bring nothing from England which might betray his motive or identity. So... the first order of the day was to find a weapon. Then, to find the one person that weapon would kill.
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