"This is all we've got?" Valerie stared down at the table, pulling on a pair of latex gloves, a strand of chestnut brown hair tucked behind her ear. Arranged on the metal surface before her were two tumblers, a single shoe impression, and a few still shots from a surveillance tape. A ridiculously well-proportioned redhead was seen hanging all over the troubled man.

The portly local PD Chief Walton Smithers stood there at the back of the room, beefy arms crossed over his chest, the buttons on his uniform struggling big time. "Aside from the blood literally everywhere" Yeah, that'd do it. Poor son of a bitch was drained."

Calloway had his hand on his hips studying the image of the woman. His suit jacket had been removed in response to the punishing desert heat, shirt sleeves rolled up his forearms. All of the blood in the room was his former partners - the shoe print - the vague impression of lipstick on one of the tumblers, those were the only pieces they had to tie the woman in the pictures to Smitty's room. His card had been charged for the room, the drinks, and a pizza. It wasn't enough. Not to find one woman - and they'd have to find her to connect her to the room, and damned if facial recognition could pick up a tag on her. Even then, the local PD's chief wasn't convinced she hadn't just...been there. After all, the mystery woman was a full foot shorter, half his size, and Smitty had been an experienced officer. About all he'd agree to is that she was a "material witness".

Valerie eyed him. John Calloway wasn't an easy read, but she knew the man. He might have seemed calm and collected, but there was a fire burning beneath that furrowed brow. John turned to her. "I want a lockdown on this. Get as many of the local uniforms out here, I want boots on the ground, I want ID's on everyone who was in the Bellagio when they were here, I want surveillance from every joint in the strip. Get people out there and see if anyone recognizes her. I want them up and down the Strip with that face if they have to." He said looking from the picture to his partner and then to the Chief. "I want a net put on this one, you understand?"

The chief scoffed. "You have any idea the kinda manpower it takes-"

"You seem to be operating under the illusion that I asked for input." Calloway said, staring with that poker face.

The doughy Chief bristled, screwing up his mouth. "We know she was there, but we've been asking and nobody seen a woman matching her description leaving the place."

Calloway's brows raised as he gawked. He pointed to the picture. "You trying to tell me nobody noticed a smoking hot redhead covered in blood wandering out of the hotel" Get your people out there, Chief. I don't care if you have to talk to the Goddamn garbage man, a cop is dead. You leave no stone unturned, you hear me?"

John signed, and ran a hair through his slicked back hair. "I'm gonna go see if Doc has anything."

The ME's office was conveniently down the hall - it made sense to have all the sciency stuff near each other. John's shoes clomped against the tile floor. Hitting the door harder than usual, the agent sent an apologetic smile at the lanky form of Doc Lerner. Fortunately, the examiner was weighing the internal organs, so the start of surprise just meant the slippery bits hit the scale with a squelch.

"Got anything for me?" Calloway lapped the room before stopping a few feet from the table. The sight of his friend, pale and cut open sent his stomach spiralling. Even with everything he'd seen in his time, nothing prepared you for the body of a friend on the slab. The cause of death, officially, was exsanguination, even though medical science couldn't explain how he'd bled out through the only cut they'd found.

"You were right. It doesn't make sense. It?" Doc Lerner pinched his nose, and shook his head. He knew John Calloway better than to give him sympathy before he was ready for it. Business first. "Nothing natural did this. And Mr. Smith didn't have any medical issues that would have caused him to bleed out that fast - he didn't even have a chance to clot. I haven't had time to research it, but I will. "

Calloway shook his head, staring at the face of his friend for a long moment. He hooked a thumb backwards. "Smithers doesn't think a little woman like that could possibly have gotten a jump on Smitty." A bitter laugh left the Agent. "I'm telling you, I don't think he knew what he picked up that night."

Lerner nodded ruefully. "I'm inclined to agree. He was naked, his gun on the other side of the room - I'm guessing he picked her up, had a little fun...and something went wrong." Picking up a file, the doctor shifted his glasses higher, and held it out to him - along with a small zip drive. "The weird thing is?" the Doctor began creases forming at his brow. "There's no evidence of a blade. At least not one I can explain - skin looks like it was torn from the inside. The only wound is a shaving cut. Even someone with hemophilia shouldn't have bled out as...forcefully...as Smitty seems to."

"What the hell causes something like that?" Calloway asked, eyeing the doctor.

"I don't know." Lerner said with a shake of the head. "But whatever killed him - it's dangerous."

Simon sat, long body draped across his couch, staring up at the rafters of the warehouse he'd converted to his home. A joint smoldered, held between thumb and forefinger, as the phone went off. Blue eyes glanced upward as he coughed a bit, twisting uncomfortably and reaching for his phone on the coffee table. "Come on you..." he accidentally knocked it to the floor. "****! Pain in the..." He leaned down and snatched it, hitting the answer button. "YO?" "Simon' I think I ****ed up really badly..." She didn't bother with a name, fairly certain he'd know who it was. Her hands were starting to shake, from whatever that pill was, maybe, or adrenaline. There was the tiniest quaver to the smoky voice that was usually so smooth and confident. She'd nearly dropped the phone twice, blood slicking her palms...her arms. She was covered. But that was the least of it. His brow furrowed, hearing that tone in her voice. "Tahlia" What's goin' on' You alright?" He couldn't see her, but she shook her head anyway, glancing over at the wreckage on the bed. "No...I went to the club...picked up some guy...it got...messy. I think he gave me something...starting hitting me..." Her breath caught in her throat, and there was a soft cough as she remembered to breath. "I need help..." Why did that make him so angry' He wanted to go, find whoever hit her and pound his face into jelly. "Alright. Listen to me. Where are you right now?" "Hang on..." She stumbled to the cheap blinds, and pried them open just enough to read the tacky neon sign. "Some place called the No-tell Motel...ugh. I did NOT see that on the way in..." Like that mattered, now...."I think it's room 503...back corner...second floor...farthest from the parking lot...and the lights..." He didn't need to be told what happened, he could guess just from what she HAD said and her tone. "You stay there. You stay right there. I'll be there in 20." Simon grabbed his "tools" and set out down the stairs. A few minutes and smashed in window later, and he was well on his way to her. "Ok..." She clicked the phone off, and sank to the floor. She didn't want to sit on the bed, and she could feel the blood getting sticky and drying on her skin and in her hair. She was having trouble thinking, and she blinked a few times, shaking her head against the fog.

Simon sat at the bar, mid-day, an empty beer bottle in front of him and a cigarette hanging from his lips. On the TV, a horse race was playing. Simon put down some big money on this one, and it wasn't looking good. He bet on an underdog, and was beginning to think he might have taken a bit too large a gamble.

A man settled in beside him at the bar. Well-coiffed, clad in a gray suit without a tie, the white dress shirt open a few buttons to his clavicle. Simon sized him up immediately. Broad-chested, biceps straining the material of his suit coat. Obviously a man who could handle himself.

The barkeep approached, "What can I get you?"

"Whiskey sour." The stranger said. Simon gave him another glance, drawing the dark haired fellow's attention as the glass was slid in front of him. Steely blue eyes looked to the empty sitting in front of the tatted fighter. "And another beer for my friend, here."

Everything about this guy screamed "COP" to him. But never one to pass up a free beer, Simon accepted. He raised the bottle to Johnny haircut over there, receiving a raise of the glass in return. He turned his gaze back to the TV as his horse fell behind. He lost big time. A grimace crossed his face. "God damn it?"

The man glanced up at the screen. "You just lose some green, there?" He asked, taking a sip of his drink.

Simon stubbed out his cigarette. He'd play along. "Yeah. 10 large."

The stranger sucked air in through his teeth, making a sympathetic face. "Ooooh...ouch."

"****in" tellin" me."

"Well, here's to ya." the man said. Silence hung between them as Simon lit another cigarette. "Name's John. John Calloway." He intro'd himself.

Simon glanced over, not exactly warm toward him as he offered an upnod.

"Simon." was all he gave.

Calloway watched him a moment with an easy going smile on his face. "What you do, Simon?"

Was this guy still trying to keep the ruse up that he wasn't there specifically FOR him' Simon just smirked. "Youth Pastor. Keepin" the kids off the streets and in the light of the Lord."

Calloway laughed lightly. "Youth pastor. I like that." He took another sip.

"Yeah, it's a laugh riot." Simon said with a sigh, taking a long drag off his cigarette. "So, you got something you wanna ask, or we gonna keep pretendin" I don't know what you are?"

Calloway grinned. He liked a worthy opponent. "Where's Tahlia Faras, Simon?"

"Never heard of her." He said cooly without thinking.

"Funny. Because I have it on good authority you two have been seen together multiple times over the past month. Now, I'm not exactly a playboy myself, but if I had a minx in the backseat of a car I was driving, I'd probably remember her." Calloway eyed him like they were playing a game of poker.

"Sounds like you need to get laid more." Simon countered.

The stranger leaned against the bar and nodded as if considering the idea. "Call me old fashioned."

"I'd rather call you gone." Simon nodded to him. "There anythin" else."

Calloway just watched him with that amused little grin, silent. Simon stubbed out his cigarette and pushed away from the bar. "Thanks for the beer."

Calloway watched him go for a moment, but his words stopped Simon cold. "Tahlia Faras is a cop killer, Simon. She killed a friend of mine, and I'm going to find her, you understand me?"

The tall Fed stood up from his stool and moved toward Simon. "She's gonna burn. Up to you if you want to help me or if you want to burn with her."

Simon locked eyes with him, that unflinching, dangerous expression on his face. "You should go home, officer. This place ain't for you."

Calloway nodded, keeping very cool, calm and confident. "Mm. No. I think I'm right where I need to be."

Simon grinned back at him. "You said you were gonna burn her. You know the problem with fire, John" It's unpredictable. Watch out you don't light yourself up in the process."

With that, Simon turned and headed toward the door, leaving Calloway in his wake, a grin on the handsome man's face. He watched as that tattooed thug disappeared out the door. He glanced over to the bartender a moment. "You. I want you to tell me everything you know about that man."

It had been...a week. Dressed as demurely as she ever got, Tahlia hadn't even bothered to stop and change. Low boots, black jeans, and a green tank top with a cardigan over it, hair left down to keep the marks from the other nights out of sight...she'd chain-smoked the whole way back to Rhy'Din, not even really thinking of anything other than getting somewhere safe. No surprise, then, when she pulled up to the warehouse, although she'd at least had the presence of mind to avoid the more obvious surveillance. Not that it mattered, really...Calloway already knew they were connected. And it wasn't like she hadn't been there frequently...although not since the night of the fights. Parking, she tossed a blanket over the luggage in the back, and stepped up to the door.

She would know by now that he would have seen her arrive. A buzz unlocking the door for her. In the apartment, he propped his hand up against the side of the window, a quirked eyebrow. There had been no contact. No heads up that she was coming. That wasn't their way. He knew his place. He was a booty call. But there had been no call. He took a drag off his cigarette and started toward the elevator where she would inevitably arrive momentarily.

She knew she'd broken the unspoken rules, but she'd thought it warranted...as much as she'd really thought about it at all. She slid in the door, quickly closing it behind her, her shoulders loosening as she took a deep breath, and headed toward the elevator. Leaning up against the wall, she closed her eyes until she felt the car stop, and then opened them, just a little puffy and lined with red. She hadn't expected that part. Seeing him, she shoved her hand into her pockets and ducked her head. "Hey, killer..."

Simon looked her over a moment, that cigarette smoldering between his lips until he pulled it away. "What's up?" He asked with a furrowed brow, blowing twin streams of smoke out his nostrils

"Tex finally got fed up. Got a text telling me to come get my stuff. Found him with my things on the porch..." Shrugging, she ran a hand through her hair, and lit a cigarette from the pack in her back pocket. "So...yeah..."

Those brows rose slowly, Simon staring at her at a loss. It took a long moment before he finally spoke. "Wow...uh..." He blinked, looking away. "Well, ****." He finally turned up to her. "You alright?"

Shrugging hurt, but it seemed to be her default. "Yeah...I don't...I guess" I mean, it's not like he's wrong. I was out all weekend, then at the fights with you...." She faded out, her gaze dropping from his face with a rather sharp exhale. "And then I 'disappeared for two days' according to him." The quotes were clear in her voice. "I mean, he was just...a place to hide. Not like it meant anything..."

Simon nodded slowly, not entirely believing her. He knew the man wasn't the love of her life or anything, but he also knew that she wasn't overly fond of hurting him. He took another long drag and waved her on. "C'mon in. You want somethin' to drink?" He moved into the living area on his way to the kitchen.

"Please..." Her heels clicked across the floor as she followed him, catching up and wrapping her arms around his ribs, leaning her cheek against his back for a moment, and just breathing him in. It helped, and then she realized what she was doing, and let go with a start. "Sorry...I...yeah. It was getting to me."

He froze when she wrapped her arms around him, that animalistic side of him kicking in for just a moment. Sudden movements and contact with him was usually a bad plan, but he controlled himself. Instead, he put a hand over her's. Then, as quickly as it came, she let go. "It's cool. Rough day for you." He glanced back with a half-smile, moving to his liquor cabinet. "What's your poison for the night?"

"Scotch?" Bourbon for good nights, scotch for when she wanted to be a little numb. Her fingers laced with his of their own volition before she forced them to let go. "Yeah...I mean on the plus side, I'm going to have to move back to town. But then...there's that dick cop." She nibbled at her bottom lip, unsure just how badly she might have screwed them with the agent.

He grabbed a bottle of scotch and poured them each a glass. "Yeah. He's been hanging around lately." He told her, throwing a glance back before returning to her. "He shows up sometimes when I'm out running errands."

He handed off the glass to her. "Cheers."

"Seriously' Does he not have a life?"" Dead friend or not, the man had to have a job...a home...didn't he" Sighing, she took the glass, and knocked back half the liquid in a single movement. The aches she'd been hiding weren't helping. "Cheers." She leaned a hip against the table, and stared into the alcohol. "So I...kinda need to find a place to stay for a bit..."

He took a gulp of the liquor. "Do you?" He smirked to her.

"Have a life" Or need a place to stay?" She stuck her tongue out at him, partly to try and hide the answering smirk he brought to her lips.

"Well, I KNOW you don't have the first one..." that challenging little grin on his face.

He was saved, for a moment, by the fact that she was midway through another swallow of scotch. "I'll have you know I've been very busy lately...There was the snake guy, and then Malcolm..." She smirked, wisely keeping to herself who else had been present for at least the first evening of that. "And then Core...Plus, I seem to remember keeping someone from bleeding all over his car on the ride home." Mostly, anyway...they'd both been smeared in it after the fight, and the live show afterwards...

If that grin faltered, she couldn't see it. "Sounds like you've got yourself a whole bunch of places you can stay."

"Could, maybe...but..." She shrugged. It honestly hadn't occurred to her to go to anyone but him. More than the Inn, or the ranch...his apartment had become her safe house. At least that was as much as she'd admit, even to herself. "You're the only one who knows everything. Who..." She floundered, and took refuge in her drink.

He looked away amusedly before turning his gaze back to her. "You gonna ask or what?"

"Seriously' Ass." She rolled her eyes, and stubbed out her cigarette. "Can I crash here" I know you don't like letting people in...I...I can ask Malcolm about getting me a place of my own, but it's going to take a bit and I just..." Why was she babbling" Why was she nervous" For ****'s sake...she'd done this a thousand times or more.

He sniffed casually, taking a last gulp of the scotch. "Sure." He turned away moving into the kitchen again. "Go grab your **** and we'll find a spot for it." He said refilling his glass, playing the whole thing aloof. "One rule though." He turned his eyes to her, suddenly serious. "You don't bring anyone here. I don't care who you ****, what you get into, but you do not bring a stranger here. Deal?"

"Simon." She straightened, and set the glass down with a click. Just as serious, although there was a slight quaver in her voice, and a shimmer to those green eyes that suggested the flinch was more from emotional wounds than physical ones. "The only person I would **** in your place is you. Ever. For ****s sake...I was stuck out in the sticks for how long, and managed not to have you come..." She spun on her heel, cheeks flushed, tossing a last shot over her shoulder as she headed to the elevator. "Give me some credit, ok" And are you helping me, or not?"

"This isn't something I'm used to doing. So I'm laying it out there, even if I do trust you. I told you yes. That means I give you all the credit in the world." He said calmly. "And as along as we understand that rule, you're welcome to crash as long as you need."

"Now. get your stuff. We're gonna get drunk."

The plan was simple. The arrogant, stupid, douchebag son of a local crime boss wanted a fight. Simon would oblige, posing under a pseudonym and allow the bets to rack up in Rocco Vicelli's favor. Then, Tahlia would place the bet. Vicelli would go down and the two of them would make out with enough money to buy a small country.

Tahlia was dressed to kill, or at least to not show any blood that might spatter against her during the fight. Tight enough to show her breasts off to their best advantage, the red bandage dress ended well above her knees - a fact which Rocco was currently trying to use to his. Dressed in boxing silks and a gold chain, he was standing behind her, slobbering against the side of her neck, one hand at her waist, the other dragging up along the inside of her thigh, with a very clear goal in mind. A toss of her head sent ink-dark waves across his face, gold hoops sparkling as she slapped at his hand with a whine echoed from her soft palate.

"Rawco! Getoff! I told ya...afteh the fight! Gawd...ahl ya havta do is beat some losah silly, and then it's ahll you-uhs?" The accent grated on her nerves, pitched higher than her usual throaty purr, but it served its purpose. Rocco had been panting at her heels since they'd "accidentally' met in the VIP lounge of his favorite nightspot...and the fact that she hadn't just spread her legs for him had seemed to hold a strange fascination for the man-child no-one said no to.

Getting the Vicelli's to bet big had taken hardly any effort at all...a few teasing comments whispered in his ear, and the promise that everything he wanted would be his...once he won. "It's time...yeah' Let's go, stud...show me what you can do...so I can show you what I can do, huh?" Sauntering toward the cage, and the crowd, she buried the shudder in an extra shimmy of her hips, and just decided to be thankful that Simon hadn't seen how hard she'd had to fight Rocco off before the fight.

Her seats were with Vincenzo Vicelli and his men. Most of the men with him were staring at phones or looking around cautiously. Though one of them, the only non-italian looking member of the group, stared hard at the currently empty ring. Slim, dark-haired, the bearing of a career criminal. Something in his eyes indicating a hard-lived life despite his youthful face. The elder Vicelli was tall, thick, and though he had a bit of a gut, he was strong as a bear. Even in his silence, he was intimidating. Black hair slicked back atop his head, dark eyes regarding her a moment before a sweet smile upturned his lips. "Hello there, sweetheart. Have a seat." He greeted her, gesturing one of those big meathooks to the seat beside him, a burning stogie between his fingers.

"Oh, sure..." The deathly high heels clicked against the stands, and she folded herself into the offered seat. Father and son made her vaguely ill...not with nerves, or fear, but the sickening amount of cologne they bathed in. Cheap, too, which just made it worse. Let him think he frightened her, though...it was what he expected, and would keep him off guard. Tugging at her skirt, which, of course, only made the neckline press against her tightly bound breasts, she settled her clutch in her lap, and looked over at the ring...eyes scanning the gathered men around her. Getting out might be a challenge, but she was certain she would come up with something. "Ya think Rocco will be done with this guy before the club closes" I'm guessing he's gonna wanna celebrate..." It wasn't going to happen, and she knew it..but it was a good gauge of where the groups heads were.

Vincenzo glanced her way, a grin spreading across his lips. "Found you at a club, huh?" He nodded. Typical He knew his son and his proclivities. Rocco did like the clubrats. To be honest, he was just relieved the girl was conscious. That was not always a guarantee with the kid. "Guy he's fightin's a nobody. Should be over n' done in no time."

Simon sat waiting in the wings, his battered fists wrapped tight, hiding those misshapen knuckles. A loose robe covered his muscled form, hiding it, too, from his opponent at the beginning. This was theater. A show. Rocco Vicelli was a muscle headed goon. He expected a weakling to wail upon. Simon wanted to see that look in his eyes when a real fighter stood before him. Wanted to see the moment when he realized the fight was real, and he couldn't depend on daddy to get him out of it.

Vicelli eyed her up and down, appreciating the outfit she was poured into. "What's your name, sweetheart?"

"Teresa Marie...but everyone calls me Tessa..." She flushed under his gaze, head ducking to spill dark hair across bare, ivory skin, and blood red fabric. "Yeah...we met at the Mercury last night...VIP lounge...Rocco said he liked the way I danced..." More likely he'd liked the barely there outfit she'd worn...and the fact that she'd simpered and fawned when he said he was going to beat a man senseless the next night.

He snorted then, a wry little smile on his face. "Yeah, I bet he did." The crowd cheered suddenly as the barker stepped out into the middle of the ring.

"Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to fight night!" He rose his fist into the air to thunderous applause.

"Are you ready for battle"!" Another loud cheer.

"Are you ready for brawn"!" Another.

"ARE YOU READY FOR BLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD"!" The place went completely ****house. Vincenzo looked around, mildly amused.

"Let's bring out our first fighter! Hailing from the West End. The Man of Muscle...ROCCOOOOOOOOO VICELLIIIIIIIIII!" Rocco came out all energy and spunk. Sunglasses, no shirt, and those stupid tribal tattoos. He ripped the beer out of a spectator's hand and slammed it, spilling most of it all over himself before chucking it aside and hopping up into the ring. Even the Barker looked annoyed. It took every ounce of will she had not to roll her eyes, instead turning the shudder of irritated revulsion into an impressed shiver. "Ooo...he's so....cawnfident. Caw-cky. Real man.."

"Annnnnnnnd now. His competitor. A new name to the circuit! Welcome....BRIIIIIIIIIIIIIAN BENNNNNNNNNIGAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNN!" Simon pulled the name out of thin air before they set up the match. It sounded like a good non-descript pseudonym.

The din of the raucous crowd hit Simon's ears as he stepped down the path to the gated ring. Rocco stood there, 5"10" of glamour muscle. Flexing away like a pro wrestler, trying to amp up the crowd. His dark beard was trimmed thin along his jawline and his hair spiked up immaculately. Those pretty-boy douchebag looks accentuated with tribal tats and a gold chain around his neck. Simon was going to make him eat it. He was going to have fun destroying him.

Tahlia perked up, and turned her attention to the cage below. She was sure they thought the nibbling at her bottom lip was for Rocco...showboating around the ring like the WWE wannabe he was. Only the most careful, almost preternaturally aware observer would realize her attention was focused on the robed and hooded figure facing him.

One of Vicelli's boys gestured to the stoic fighter in the robe, amused "Lookit this guy. Looks scrawny....Rocky's gonna wipe the mat with this ****face."

Tahlia was quick to agree. Best to keep up appearances. "Jeez...what kinda name is that' Nuthin...."

Vincenzo watched his idiot son parade around, looking thoroughly unamused. "'least this guy's actin' like a man. Not a little ****in' boy." He looked like he wanted to go down and slap the living **** out of Rocco himself.

"Maybe he spends too much time in Papa's shadow..." It was a low, barely vocalized purr,

Her eyes never left the ring, utterly ignoring Rocco in favor of Simon's still hidden form. With a shake of her head...she tossed her hair, and shot a glance over at the older Vicelli. "I'm sure he'll make you proud...really show his worth..."

"Why start now?" He muttered, taking a big puff off his cigar.

Rocco pointed at his opponent, threateningly. Beneath the hood a lopsided grin formed slowly on Simon's face as he ascended the stairs into the ring. The showrunner walked up behind Simon stepping between the two fighters. "Gentlemen. The rules are simple. The fight goes on as long as it has to. If one of you taps out, goes limp, dies" The fight is over. No shirts. No shoes. No jewelry, Kid." He said staring hard at Rocco.

The kid just smirked. "I ain't takin" off my chain, bitch. "Sides. This little punk's gonna be doing a drum solo in about 5 seconds, lookin" for a way out of this fight."

Simon looked unimpressed, a sidelong glance sent the runner's way as a smirk hit both their faces.

"Your funeral kid." He said. "Let's do this."

Simon lowered his hood, eyes locked on the kid, unblinking. He slowly and deliberately pulled off the robe, revealing a body that had been forged in hand to hand combat. Chiseled features on display, packed with hard muscle. A fighter's body. A warrior's body, littered with tattoos. He handed the robe off to the runner and eyed Rocco like a lion stalking its prey.

Tahlia pressed her hand to her lips, and bit down on the inside of her cheek. Every time. Every time it was just as bad as the first and her fist clenched in her lap as muscles fluttered unseen beneath her dress...."Oooh....he's...I dunno...he doesn't look so bad..." She allowed a hint of doubt to creep in for the first time.

Vincenzo's reaction was not quite as joyous. When the robe dropped, there was a spark of realization in the elder Vicelli's eyes. "What the ****..." This was not the scrawny fighter he'd been sold on. This was a man cut from steel. This was a fighter.

It was just a second...but Simon saw that confident air leave the kid. This was what he wanted so badly. This moment of hopelessness in the little punk's eyes. He'd bitten off way more than he could chew and he knew it. But ****ed if he was going to show weakness in front of everybody. If there was one thing these greaseballs treasured, it was their reputation. Rocco forced a smile, pacing around the ring and throwing his arms up, trying to stir the crowd to no avail. The only people cheering him now were his father and his goons.

Simon casually walked , watching him sidelong, the kid pumping himself up, readying to attack. Rocco threw that first punch and Simon easily leaned out of the way. Another jab that hit nothing. Simon gave an antagonistic little smirk that just infuriated the kid. "Come on, you pussy! Fight!"

That just made Simon chuckle. OH that did not help Rocco's mood.

Vincenzo leaned back to his men. "Find out who this ****in' guy is." He turned to "Teresa". "I think we're gettin' played here. This ****'s a ringer." As the fight began, Vincenzo's eyes narrowed, those big fists clenching. Behind him his man seemed to get more and more enraged.

"Who would do that though' I mean...why?" She stammered slightly in innocent confusion. They'd known once things started, all bets were off....

Another vicious jab was thrown, but this time, he turned his body into Rocco's, left arm grabbing that punching arm as his right elbow slammed into the kid's throat. He looked stunned, clutching his neck, trying to get his breath back. The smile left Simon's face as he ripped the chain from the kid's neck and wrapped it around his fist.

He hit him again and again and again in the face, the gold stained red as it cut into the flesh of the stumbling little punk. In a bit of a daze he managed to push aside the next punch the threw a wild one of his own that connected with Simon's jaw. The kid may not have been experienced, but that muscle wasn't nothing. He stumbled back, letting the pain in for just a moment. And then stood back up with a grin. The crowd went absolutely bat ****.

Rocco charged at him throwing a barrage of punches that all managed to miss as Simon bobbed, weaved, ducked, and leaned away gracefully, almost lazily. He threw a jab to the kid's solar plexus and dodged the response. Threw another to his ribs and ducked a punch that might have taken his head off. The next barrage was just defense as he backed away, leading Rocco back, back, back toward the cage.

Simon saw his opening and took it, ducking low into a crouch under an attack and upper-cutting him directly to the balls. As Rocco doubled over, Simon pushed up with one knee, his body rising as his arm prepared to rocket upwards. That hard, rock-like fist connected with Rocco's chin, his artificially white front teeth chipping against each other from the force of the blow.

Rocco was somewhere else now, but he was still standing. Simon grabbed him by the back of his head and whirled him around, throwing him, face-first into the metal bars of the cage. As the kid slumped he drove his knee into Rocco's back until he hit the ground. The bell rang as Rocco lay there, completely unconscious, utterly humiliated, and soundly defeated.

Simon rose to his feet, panting and glistening with sweat and his opponent's blood as the place went insane. His fist rose, still wrapped in that chain, eyes scanning the crowd and then threw it at the out-cold body of Rocco. The arena lost their minds...but he made eye contact with the one person in the room who mattered. A little private smirk sent her way before he was ushered out of the ring.

As Rocco fell, Vincenzo was fuming. He turned to "Teresa" looking enraged. "I think it's time for you to go home, sweetheart." He gave her her out. Her date wouldn't be joining her anyway.

The man behind him stared at the exiting "Brian", a darkness to him. "I know that mother****er. I swear to God, I know him."

She didn't argue with Vicelli, eyes wide as she rose and scampered down from the stands. She didn't leave, oh no. Once she was out of sight, she slowed to a stalking stride that took her to the locker rooms, and slipped inside. She'd known which one was his...and after the fight...he'd hardly gotten a scratch, from the looks of it. She just wouldn't be content til she checked for herself.

By the time she made it to the locker room, Simon was standing there, towel around his shoulders, body streaked with sweat and blood, his eyes turning to her. A little smirk crossed his lips.

"****...killer...you were perfect..." Right now, nothing else mattered. Not even bothering to drop her clutch, still raven-haired and dressed like Rocco's wet dream, she crossed the space between them, and cupped her free hand along his jaw. "Just perfect." Hardly needing to rise in those ****-me heels, she brought her lips to his for a soul-searing kiss.

Simon grabbed her by the waist and pulled her close to him, his mouth pressing to her's, returning the kiss. "And you...Jesus ****in" Christ...how that guy even MADE it to the fight without sufferin" a heart attack is beyond me..." His mouth attacked her's again, hungry for her. Starving for her.

The moan that was muffled against his lips and tongue was clear assent. Her tongue spilled over her lips to dance with his, twisting and snaking while her body pressed hard enough to him to soak in the spatters of Rocco' blood, and Simon's sweat. "That thing with the chain..." The words gasped as she snuck a breath and then surrendered to his kiss again, her arms twining over his shoulders.

He nudged her nose with his own. "Liked that, did you?" He smirked, fingers rolling along her back.

"I wish you'd kept it..." She would have worn it, and nothing else, to bed one night...just because. She nudged back, hardly noticing the purr that trilled from her.

"That Guido douchebag never knew what hit him. You played your part so well...That dress....that hair..."

"No...but we knew he wouldn't. Vicelli damn near **** a brick when you dropped the robe..." She whimpered softly, her hips pressing firmly to his for a breath.

"Do me a favor." he said with a smirk. "There should be a towel rack over there." He nodded toward the shower room. "Grab me one, will ya" I think I got his bronzer and hair gel on me..."

Tahlia nodded, and kissed him once more time before she stepped away. "Sure thing...if I never have to smell that awful cologne of his again...ugh..." She wouldn't mention it, but she might check to make sure there were no tell-tale smears of bronzer from where Rocco had tried to force the issue. With a smirk, Tahia sauntered over to the showers, disappearing behind the tiles. The door to the locker room suddenly opened. No knocking, no announcement. The men just barged in. Big, bruiser-looking types in leather jackets and gold chains of their own. "Area's off limits boys." Simon said.

They said nothing. Then in-strolled Vincenzo Vicelli. He had a fresh cigar smoldering away and a cabbie hat pulled over his eyes. His huge form lumbering into the room. The thinner man stepped into the room, eyeing Simon with a rage he felt was almost tangible.

"Can I help you?" Simon asked, keeping his cool.

"Yeah, you cheatin' lowlife ****-" The thin one said before Vicelli halted him.

"That was some fight, kid." He said, gesturing with his cigar. "Really put my kid in his place. Important lesson learned: Know who you're fightin'." He walked along the lockers looking at them a moment. "Bennigan. I'm guessin' that name's bull****?"

Tahlia had laid a hand on the towel, and had taken a single step back toward Simon when the men hit the door. The hair she could fix...but Vicelli had been looking right at her, and the clothes...the clothes would give it all away. Pressing against the wall, she waited, listening. Simon could take care of himself, she knew...but there were enough of them that she found herself wishing for something to even the field.

Simon eyed him. "Could be. What's it to you."

"You cost me 250 grand. Humiliated my kid." He said simply, calmly. "You know who I am?"

"Yeah." He nodded. "I know who you are."

"Mm." Vincenzo approached him. "Good. Then you knew the risks of fightin' my son. Of swindlin' him. And yet...here we are, ain't we, kid?"

Simon just locked eyes with him. "You know if you lay a hand on me you won't make it out the door alive."

Vicelli had an almost friendly, endearing laugh. "Maybe." He nodded amusedly. "But that ain't my style. You owe me a lotta money kid. And I'll be collectin' soon. You got that' Mr. Toews?"

Simon's heart sank, but he didn't show it. That poker face remained in full effect. "Never heard of him."

The thin one pushed forward. "No' Well, I gotta name you will remember. Cameron Cotter." The hairs on the back of his neck stood tall, and it took every ounce of his restraint not to react.

"See, Cotter used to be a name people respected. Feared. Used to be a name that offered a certain amount of protection if you were his kid. And then some nobody punk shows up...kills him. Burns his whole empire to the ****in' ground." He leaned in close to SImon, glaring. "I know your ****ing face. I know who you are, you son of a bitch."

Simon eyed him. "Then you should much more God Damn afraid of me right now."

Cotter drew his arm back, ready to hit him, before Vicelli caught him and pushed him away, pointing one of those big sausage fingers at him. "Not here! Not right now!" He chastised the young man. Those eyes turned to Simon, narrowed. "I'll be seein' ya around, kid. Enjoy your victory. While ya can." With that the crew left, heading out into the night.

As soon as they were gone, his facade broke. He suddenly looked a little concerned.

How the **** was there anyone from those days still alive" He'd killed every one of Cotter's men, burned the place to the ground. As far as he knew, the bastard HAD no children. So, who in the **** was this kid"

She had no idea who Cameron Cotter was...or why the skinny pissy guy knew Simon...but she could hear the bone-deep hatred in his voice. Every sense was on high alert, and the small gift for mind-reading that usually only bolstered her stronger abilities strained to pick up as much as she could...which was hardly anything at all, and mostly focused on Simon's state of mind. She wouldn't worry til he did. Holding her breath, she heard them leave, heard the door slam shut behind them, and hesitantly stepped out of the showers, towel still held in her free hand. "Simon?" She knew better than to pry...but their little wager had just gotten more complicated than she liked.

Slowly he turned to her, he didn't bother putting on a facade. He just took the towel. "You heard all that?"

Nodding, she let go of the towel, her eyes searching his face. "Yeah...Who...you..." Taking a breath, she slid her arms around his ribs and set her head on his shoulder, nose tucked into the crook of his neck. "What do I need to know?"

His mind was absolute chaos, compared to that measured exterior. "He's someone...from my past." He said evenly. "Someone who shouldn't exist. I think I killed his father."

"oh." It was a remarkably understated response, but then...her past was littered with bodies. Fathers, sons, brothers...she had no room to judge, even were she so inclined. And this was Simon. "I'm sure you had a good reason." Her definition might be a little skewed, and include 'he hit a girl'. Still wrapped around him, she straightened enough to watch his face.

He let out a breath, leaving those thoughts behind. "Come on. Let's head out."

Vicelli, and whoever the thin Cotter spawn was were most assuredly on her list. Blood lust, for her, was a complicated thing, and didn't much like being frustrated. She blamed Simon not at all...but should she ever find herself with the opportunity, the others would pay. "Sure thing, killer...your place?"

That smirk of his returned to his face. "Oh yeah. My place."

Looping her arm through his, she headed out with him, her mood much improved in an instant. She knew that look.

The message on Tahlia's cell told her to come by. Not any different than most of the booty calls that had her over at his place time and again. It never took much for them. She'd headed over without a second thought, parking the Spitfire on the corner, since there seemed to something in her usual spot. She didn't think much of it, maybe she should have, but she was dressed for a night in with her favorite fighter, and all she could think about what what lay ahead. Thankfully, she'd kept her key...and the minute the door closed behind her the blonde faded to red and swept across her shoulders as she headed to the lift. It was a bit unusual that he hadn't buzzed her...but then, they'd been roomies for a few weeks, maybe he figured she knew the way by now. Stepping out, the only sound was her heels against the floor..."Simon?"

The main living space was silent. No sign of the man whatsoever. Not in his room. Not in the bathroom. Not in the kitchen. As she stepped out onto the fire escape, her phone chirped. She had a text.

"If he went out..." She left the sentence unfinished, blinking at the image on the screen. "What the..."

There were no words. Just a picture. It was from the night of the fight. Her, black hair and all. And Simon. Then a second later...another. Her. Looking down at her phone just now.

There was a loud thunk from across the way. What appeared to be a grenade launcher fired a smoke bomb at the building. The smoking cylinder soared past her head and into the building, filling it with a grey haze. Men were exiting an SUV below, armed to the teeth. The room filled with smoke, and she turned just in time to see the cavalry arrive. She'd been set up. Coughing, she moved into the smoke...if she couldn't see them, they couldn't see her, and at least she knew the layout like the back of her hand.

Behind her two Molotov cocktails sailed in through that second story fire-escape, fire bursting and spreading behind her.

On the ground floor, Rocco had stepped out of his SUV, his face stiched and scarred, bearing the evidence of Simon's savage beating from the other night. She'd humiliated him. Played him. Turnabout was fair play. "Wait here. I'm making sure that bitch doesn't leave here alive."

He stepped onto the lift and racked the gun as the doors slid shut.

Glass glittered against her skin, cutting in, but leaving no blood. Jade eyes widened as she realized she was left with one way out...and the lift was moving. She didn't need to be a rocket scientist to know it wasn't friendly. Trying to ignore the fire...ignore the heat and the screams that echoed through centuries, she ignored the tiny pricks of pain and headed toward the kitchen. Or not quite the kitchen...the area just beyond it where Simon kept his weapons. She might be good, but she couldn't face an army on her own...not without a way to make them bleed, and die. Luckily she could move quickly in heels...and moving forward, getting out...well, it kept her from thinking about how they'd gotten Simon's phone.

That lift slid open, revealing Rocco. "Hey, Teresa! Time for our date!" He called out and fired blindly into the room, the pellets tearing into drywall and shattering glass. The musclebound lug moved in, taking cover behind a wall. "Come on out and make this easy!" He called to her. "Otherwise I'm gonna make this HURT!"

Again, he leaned out and fired into the smoke.

Her teeth cut into her lip as more glass rained over her, peppering her skin with shards. Not a problem, except for the pain. She couldn't clear them without bleeding, and she needed her strength. Trying to muffle the coughing, mascara running from the smoke, she found the cabinet, and reached inside. Guns were not her weapon of choice, but she'd rather not let Rocco close enough to cut him. She just needed him to bleed. Grabbing a shotgun, and a pistol, she paused, and slid a pair of knives into her bra. Better safe. She should have known. Slinking through the smoke, she heard the blast, and hit the wall. "I'm just fine here, thanks...I can't smell that vile cologne of yours..."

He growled and wheeled the gun in the direction he heard the voice and fired, going way wide of her. He was no better at shooting than he was at fighting. "I'm gonna shove this gun down your smart ****in' mouth and make you a Goddamn pez dispenser!"

"You couldn't shove anything anywhere..." She couldn't resist baiting him, drawing him out. She needed him closer...needed to be able to see him. Swinging the gun around the corner, she fired, likely wide, but hitting him wasn't the point. "Did you really think I was going to let you **** me?"

He moved out into the smoky room, quiet as can be, that shotgun shouldered and ready to go. That shot went just past him and made him duck for cover behind Simon's couch, blind firing over the back.

Lucky shot, as birdshot tore through her bicep, and she bit back a scream. Just because she didn't bleed didn't mean it didn't hurt. She was strong..she was confident...she was scared, and fighting memories, and realizing he had her pinned. Shit. "You saw him...in the ring. The way he moves...compared to him you're a boy...even your father thought he was more of a man." She needed him blind...stupid with rage.

"**** YOU!" He screamed, rising up and firing even where she wasn't, climbing over the couch in the general direction of her voice, unloading shell after shell until the weapon clicked dry.

There it was. She spun out, and fired, she only needed a few to hit him...just enough to give her something to work with. But he was closer than she'd expected, and coming fast. Dropping the shotgun, she pulled the pistol, and aimed for center mass...there was too much smoke to tell if she'd hit him with the shot. "Never happen. And he's done things to me you'll only ever dream about..." She squeezed the trigger, eyes closed because she couldn't see, but she could hear...

On the street, Simon was speeding wildly the factory in-sight and puffing out smoke like mad. They were there. And Tahlia was likely dead. That meant one thing. Kill them all.

On the ground floor Rocco's back up waited, smoking and talking ****. Suddenly, the overhead door was ripped open as the Charger tore on through, Simon slamming on the brakes, taking out on man and then smashing another between his car and the SUV. He stepped out and opened fire on the rest with the rifle, taking them out one by one. He knew there would be more. But the immediate threat was gone. He changed out the spent mag and called down the lift.

Upstairs, she could smell the blood through the smoke...she'd hit him somewhere, at least. Tahlia's bullet tore through Rocco's shoulder...and she was now aware he was on some sort of drugs because it only gave him pause. The shotgun clattered to the ground as he rushed her, his massive form plowing into her, hands wrapping around her throat. "DIE YOU ****ING ****!" He snarled, hoisting her off the ground. The screams echoed in her ears, but she was in some dingy motel room and there was blood and pain, but she couldn't draw enough breath to utter the word that would save her. Somewhere in the distance, she could hear gunfire, the screech of metal, but it all blended into past and present and she couldn't breathe. This time...this time she had a little more in her corner. Those giant hands had her near to blacking out in no time...but she didn't have to aim with him so close. She barely squeezed the trigger...the bullet tearing into the femoral artery just before her world went black.

He dropped her then suddenly, letting out a scream and fell back on the ground, clutching his freely bleeding leg. The adrenaline pumping did nothing to help, and made him bleed worse. Rocco crawled away from her as best he could, blood spurting freely.

Collapsing to the floor, she looked like a crumpled doll for a moment. Crimson locks tumbled over her face, broken glass sparkling against her exposed skin...slowly, she pushed up, glaring at Rocco through the smoke. "Bleed, you bastard...bleed and die..." Watching his blood obey her, she managed a brief smile...at least he'd pay for whatever he'd done to Simon. If only she didn't hurt so much.

His eyes went wide as the blood rushed from every bit of him, pure terror in his eyes as she drained him. Rocco tried to flee, but his body would not cooperate. The blood bursting from his wounds as he shook violently.

"ROCK! WE GOTTA GO!" A voice called out. "What the fuck?" Said the terrified goon, watching Tahlia leaving the man hollow.

A ding came from behind him as the doors opened. Before he could even turn around his chest burst as round and after round tore through him. Surprise took hold on his face as he dropped, revealing Simon, his nose busted, his face covered in grime and blood. His white shirt stained red around his chest and arm, a look of pure feral rage in his eyes. He held the smoking rifle at his shoulder until he noticed her.

"Simon!" It would have been louder if she wasn't trying to make her throat work through smoke and damage. She shook her head, scrambling to her feet. It couldn't be, but it was, and all she could think of was getting to him. Almost without conscious thought, his bleeding stopped...bleeding Rocco had barely tapped her abilities, and he was hurt. The dead goons, the fire...it all disappeared. Standing, she took a swaying step, and then another, her skin streaked with black and red.

He rushed to her then, the rifle left behind without a thought. His arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her to him. Their lips meeting as his world and everything in it burned around him. Everything but her. Everything but this. Tahlia was alive. Tahlia was here. Tahlia was his.

She could suffocate before she'd tear her lips from his and not care. She was in his arms and it was all that mattered. All she needed. All she wanted. It was right there in the press of their bodies, the feel of his lips on hers. He was alive, and he'd come for her and nothing else meant anything. Even the fire couldn't hurt her and the screams faded. Blood, death, destruction...everything faded and all there was was him.

When their lips finally parted, he looked her in the eyes, a smile spreading across his battered face...but all good things had to come to an end. The fire was now by the weapons Including the explosives. Simon's face fell. "We need to go."

She reached up to touch his face...as if it was the last bit of proof she needed. Her eyes shone, nearly glowing in the firelight, and she came back to reality with a start. "Car's outside..." She didn't spare a thought for the Vicelli's or their men. She simply didn't care. She had the only thing that mattered. "Can we...?"

"Yeah. Come on." He said, nodding to the door the last goon had come through. He lead her to the emergency stairwell, opening the door and immediately finding one of Vicelli's men standing there. He took her pistol completely by instinct putting two to his chest and another to his forehead, sending the body tumbling down the three levels of stairs and slamming to the concrete below.

"Next place...no stairs..." She quipped. Breathing hurt. Her gifts could do nothing about smoke inhalation, and her throat had barely had time to heal from the last time. She hardly blinked as he sent the body tumbling...hand in hand she followed along behind him, utterly failing at situational awareness, and relying entirely on him.

The pair made their way down the stairwell, rounding the corner onto the second level landing. The door opened behind them, arms wrapped around Tahlia and grabbed her roughly, shoving her up against the wall. Tahlia screamed as the arms wrapped around her ribs and dragged her back, knocking what little wind she had left to her out of her lungs and cutting off the scream with a sudden gasp. Another ran past, slamming into Simon, and putting him into the one opposite.

Simon wasted no time, driving an elbow into his neck, then kneeing him in the stomach and throwing him over the railing.

Tahlia's attacker was grabbed from behind, then. Simon pulled him off of her and threw him back against the wall, the hit man crumbling to the ground. She fell to the ground as the weight disappeared, chest heaving as she sucked in air, best she could. Copper tickled the back of her nose, and she blinked up from beneath the curtain of crimson, the occasional streak of black showing where the fire had singed her. He'd threatened what was his. Simon drove his boot heel down onto the man's face. Again and again and again he stomped on him, hands braced against the wall, snarls of rage leaving the tattooed fighter. He stomped and stomped and stomped until there was a mess of gore that no longer resembled a face. Even in the ring, she'd never seen him like this. The nickname had come from her recognizing the coiled intensity...the capability to do what he was doing right now. It didn't frighten her, if anything, she stared, transfixed and breathing with a certain shallow intensity. There was no denying it any longer. Some part of her had known for weeks, had fought it...she was lost. Utterly, irretrievably.

Simon panted, backing away, blue eyes alive with fiery hatred. The past alive and replaying in his head. This was something he'd left behind. Something he no longer was. Or so he liked to tell himself.

No. This part of him was back. Her nickname for him taking a whole new frightening reality.

Simon turned to her slowly, eyes wide, seeming particularly bright in the mask of dried blood that covered his face. His hand rose slowly to her. "We're leaving. Now."

Calloway stood outside of the burning Factory that had once been Toews" home. Toews had managed to lose him on the way to the Auditorium. He'd just left the aftermath of the gunfight. Bodies and blood were everywhere there...and he could just imagine how bad it was here.

Any other man would assume Toews and Faras were dead inside that building...but he knew them. The pair were resourceful...persistent. No, he would bet his life that they were alive and hiding out somewhere.

The Watch was on-sight, as people went to work on putting out the fires. The familiar purple-eyed, raven-haired sight of Ilyia Marks approached him, an unfavorable expression on her face.

"Mr. Calloway. You're still in Rhydin." She said, though there was no surprise in her voice. He didn't respond, just stared at that fire. Ilyia gestured to the burning building. "Are you satisfied now?"

Calloway turned to her, a dangerous look in his eyes. "No. No I'm not."

"It's time for you to leave." She said icily. "Your time in Rhydin is at an end."

"Tahlia Faras is still alive." He fairly growled. "I'm not done here by a damn sight."

Those violet eyes narrowed. "You have 24 hours. If you are not gone by then, you will be removed. Is that understood?"

He didn't respond, he just glared.

"Pack your things. Go home."

"I can't." He whispered. "Not yet."

"Then the next time we meet...it will not be so pleasant." Ilyia responded.

"I'm willing to risk that." Calloway nodded.

"Goodbye, Mr. Calloway." She said. "I wish you luck. You'll need it.?

Simon lay beside her for hours, chasing a slumber that would never come. The only thing he could do was stare at the ceiling and listen to her breathe. His eyes fixated on a mark upon the ceiling while his mind ran a mile a minute. When he glanced at the clock on the nightstand, it read 4:00 AM. With a sigh, he carefully slipped out of bed, trying not to wake her.

The light of the moon shone in through the window, illuminating him in a light blueish tinge. There, he stood watch, keeping his eyes on that empty parking lot, and the open road. His fingers ran along the barrel of the shotgun a moment, images of the past night playing in his mind's eye. Cotter. Vicelli. Everything.

Tahlia was fine as long as he was beside her...but the moment he moved, she started to whimper, softly, until she snapped awake with a sharp gasp, eyes wide and focused on something far away. It took a moment before she realized the light was wrong - the air blue, not red. Not searing hot and filled with anger, not filled with dying screams, or the feel of her siblings tugging her away. She was...if not safe, at least not there.

Tears streaked her face as she scrambled to sit up, knees tucked against her chest. It wasn't enough, even with her arms wrapped around her legs. What she wanted, what she needed, was to be curled in his arms, against his chest, where she was safe.

Maybe it was the cut that now served as an underline. Maybe it was just the heat of everything, the revelation of what he was and how he was. he'd seen him unclothed a million times, but for some reason...tonight "Cici" stood out. Her eyes traced the letters, "Simon?"

His fingers left the gun and he turned to her, sitting upon the bed, wrapping one arm around her to pull her close as he leaned back against the headboard. "Yeah?"

She snuggled against his chest, her fingers rising to trace those suddenly obvious letters on his chest. "Who's Cici?" It wasn't quite what she'd meant to say, but the words were out and in the air before she could catch them

Something inside seemed to crawl right into his heart and squeeze. His eyes drifted down to her and then stared ahead. He was silent for a long time before he answered. "My daughter." The pain in those words. Two simple words held a lifetime of anguish.

"Oh. I didn't...know." It was right there...the implication of past tense. Not only past, but past and painful. "I'm sorry, Simon..."

"The young guy from the locker room..." He whispered.

"The one...the pissy one. Who nearly hit you." Her sympathies in this were clear.

He nodded, swallowing hard, eyes locked ahead, but his thoughts clearly elsewhere. "His father killed her."

Although her lashes dropped for a moment...she'd never known her father, but she'd watched her mother die. She knew that pain. But his...his wrenched inside her like someone had grabbed her heart and was trying to wring every last drop of blood from her. "I...oh Simon....I'm sorry...I can't...I can't imagine. Losing my mother...but a child. Your..." She simply wrapped herself around him, and held him close.

"Sometimes...I don't even know that she's gone. It's like....I can just walk into the other room and see her sleeping on the couch because she got out of her bed to watch TV or something..." He swallowed hard. "And maybe I can go carry her back to her room and tuck her in...tell her I love her...that everything's going to be okay. And she's safe..."

Those eyes stared off, dark and distant. "...but I can't." He said.

Suddenly, so much made sense about him. Why he was often so distant. Why he didn't do relationships. Why he never let anyone in. Why he spent so much time in a drunken, stupor, getting his face pounded in at the fights. Why he didn't seem to care.

Quiet for a moment. "I know she's gone. I know I can't have her back, so I try to forget...just how long I've been alone...and how the one time was not enough to punish the man who took her from me."

That she understood all too well. "I get that...it's never enough. Not for something like that." Centuries hadn't been enough to bury her need for answers, her need to punish everyone for the long-dead villagers who had killed her mother. "Nothing is." Not even her, she knew...and she swallowed tightly, tears leaking from beneath her lashes. She'd realized something in the middle of the fire...something she'd never expected, and now...she could hardly give voice to it.

The pair just stay there, curled together in silence. Safe, yet utterly vulnerable.

Tahlia was stuck on that train for a half an hour before it finally rolled to a stop. When the doors opened only one person stepped inside. She was tall, a sort of regal presence to her natural beauty. Wild, bushy hair kept pulled back by a headband, and dark eyes and flawless dark skin clad in a leather jacket and tight jeans. And, impossible to miss was the missing left arm paired with the slight limp. Those keen eyes landed on the girl. "Tahlia." She said in greeting. It wasn't a question. Not unless there was another pissed-off looking girl handcuffed on a train.

Green eyes the color of tornado-laden skies lifted to the stranger, somehow only more dangerous for the tears that streaked her cheeks and pooled along her lashes. "And just who, the **** are you?" It hit her in a rush then - he'd set this up before they left the motel..."Let me guess - you're my jailer" Right' He has to know I'm not going to just...let him get himself killed." She watched the woman warily, appraising her, and slowly regained her feet, hiding all but the slightest tightening of her lips as the cuff tugged at the hidden bruises on her wrist.

"I'm Corrine Paige." She said simply. "I'm here to get you to safety." She snatched up the key, walking back toward her, a sort of impatience in her entire bearing. "I'm going to uncuff you. Now, I promised Simon I would get you to safety. But if you give me a lick of trouble...if you try to run...girl, I don't care how many limbs I'm missin', I will knock you the **** out. Understand" How I get you there doesn't matter as long as you're alive."

"I'm going to run. You can count on that. Do you know what that bastard did?" Even still, there was no denying the predatory readiness in every fiber of her tiny being. "You go right ahead and uncuff me. Tell him I knocked you out. I don't care what you tell him." Those storm-filled eyes turned to Paige, roiling between rage and pain. "He told me he loved me and then he went off to die. And if you think that's happening...hell, if you're ok with that happening...than he should never have trusted you. But I am not letting the only man I've ever...that I..." She couldn't quite get the word out, and jerked her arm against the cuff in frustration. "Uncuff me, get me a car, tell me where I can find some Ascend and then just let me go to him...I'll tell him you tried really hard to stop me. Promise."

Corrine smirked, eyeing her. "I can see why he likes you." She walked over and undid the cuff from the pole, but those years as a cop had her moving quick, latching Tahlia's other wrist behind her back. Even one-handed it was obvious that the woman knew how to handle herself. "But that ain't how this is gonna go, sweetness." She put a shoulder into Tahlia pushing her forward out onto the platform.

"And how long have you been his bitch, huh?" Tahlia was perfectly capable of being pleasant, when she was so inclined....this was not one of those times.

Paige pushed her up against a wall, leaning in close. "You listen to me, bright eyes. I ain't *nobody's bitch." She let up a moment. "Now, I get it. It's infuriating. Toews wants to play white knight all the sudden. Keep you out the game and go down with the ship. Believe me, I get it." She nodded. "But he wants you safe. He wants you here and that's my job. Do not test me. You make this easy on both us and we won't have a problem." Paige warned giving her nudge forward out the door.

"Why' So you can go to sleep tonight not thinking about him taking on a cadre of mob goons" Not gonna happen..." She barely managed not to stumble, refusing to give the one-armed woman the satisfaction.

"Yeah, well, he's known for it." She grumbled.

Paige led her through the place looking around for any witnesses. Thankfully, at this hour nobody was around..."Toews isn't much of a talker. What's he lookin' at?" She asked.

"Whatever's left of the Vicelli's after they firebombed his place last night. With me in it." She slowed, so she didn't have to crane her head back to speak, or raise her voice...you never knew where there could be ears.

"Vincenzo Vicelli?" She asked a shade of concern crossing her face. She knew all about Vicelli. Knew what that man was capable of. She also knew Simon in the same way. He would bring holy hellfire upon that place...but even he wasn't likely to walk away from this one.

?"The one and only." Tahlia said. "And seeing as Rocco Vicelli is no longer among the living, and Vinny's out a quarter mil...I don't think they'll be talking much."

Corrine shook her head with a sigh. "Boy's consistent, I'll give him that."

Tahlia glared over her shoulder. "You didn't answer my question...how long has he been jerking your chain?"

"11 years ago, he saved my life. Coulda left me for dead, pinned under a shipping container. Instead, all I got was a hitch in my step and the end of my career as a drummer." She kept her head on swivel, eyes checking every corner as she directed Faras out of the station. "I'm still here because a' him."

Tahlia stopped, turning to look Corrine square in the eye. "You're going to let the man who saved your life go into the mouth of hell alone." The breeze caught her hair, sent it unfurling like a banner behind her.

A moment of hesitation crossed Paige's eyes, her teeth clenching lightly. Just a brief second, but it was enough of an opening.

"I can help him. Look at me. You're not stupid, you know I can. Let me go. Please..." Something about the time clicked. "Cotter. He"****. You knew him then, yes" You know what happened..."

Paige tensed visibly. "How do you know that name?" There was a hint of something in her voice. Fear, maybe anger. It meant something to her.

"He told me. He told me everything." Tahlia explained.

"Then you know that Cotter's dead." she said simply...though a hint of uncertainty in her tone was impossible to miss.

"His kid isn't. And he's with Vicelli. And Simon is headed there. Right. Now. Alone." She saw the opening, and pressed, using just the slightest bit of the gift that was so much a part of her. "Is that what you want' To leave him for dead when you could help him, the way he helped you?"

A weary sigh left the former detective. She grit her teeth and shut her eyes. "I don't believe I'm ****in' doin' this..." Paige said, spinning the girl around and undoing the cuffs. "Get in the car." She ordered, stepping around to the driver's door, slipping into the driver's seat.

"Don't worry, sugar...he's going to be too pissed at me to be mad at you." Wringing her hands, she felt carefully at the injured wrist. Time for that later. "Ascend. Weapons I got. I just...I need one pill." She couldn't believe she was considering it, again...but if she got there, and Simon was dead...she'd flood the street with blood. "And you stay outside." "Girl, after the lecture you just gave me, I know you ain't gonna try and pull that ****." She said. "You want to save him' I'm backing you up." She started the car, put it into gear and hit the gas.

Tahlia gave an exaggerated sigh, but the smirk that accompanied it resembled the proverbial cats. "Fine. Only because I like you. And Simon likes you." That, and she'd heard the ring in Corinne's voice that said the woman was going in whether she liked it or not. The little redhead could respect that - she was doing the same thing. She thought about warning Corinne again about the drug...but if she took it, it meant they were too late - and if that was the case, she wasn't going to care who else died. The smirk blazed to a feral, anticipatory grin, and she winked at the driver. "Let's do this thing.?

Tahlia would, grudgingly, give Paige credit for driving skills" only she or Simon could likely have gotten there faster. She didn't ask why the one-armed woman knew where Vicelli holed up. To be honest, she didn't much care. Her only concern was getting to Simon - keeping him alive if she could, and if they were too late" there was a little red pill in a glassine bag tucked in her pocket.

Everything seemed eerily quiet as they rolled up, Paige glanced out the window, spying the corpse lying on the ground through the front doors.

"I'm guessin" that's our boy?" she muttered.

The redhead suddenly bolted from the car, sans guns, a throwing knife in each hand.

"Whoa, whoa WHOA! Where the **** are you going"!"

Tahlia, deaf to her screams simply stepped over the rapidly cooling body in the foyer without a second glance. She headed for the elevator, foot tapping impatiently the whole ride up, barely glancing back at Paige, the former detective scrambling out of her vehicle.

"Tahlia, wait!" She screamed, hobbling as fast as she could as the elevator doors slid shut. Paige bumped into them, slamming her fist on the cold metallic surface, screaming out a curse. Her eyes flicked to the stairwell, her jaw setting. God damn it...she hated stairs.

The daggers, small and black, but deadly enough in her hands, flipped occasionally, as if seeking targets on their own, only to be called back. The minute the doors chimed, she was out, tornado-green eyes scanning the room, the corner of her lip twitching as she surveyed the bodies littered where they'd fallen. This close, she'd know"

The sonic boom of a shotgun blast had her moving, the familiar scent shifting her from caution to speed in an instant. No thought for her supposed bodyguard, or who else might be ahead. She knew Simon was, knew he was bleeding, and that was enough. Shouldering past the busted door, nothing registered but the crumpled form on the floor, and the blooming crimson of his chest. Two steps, and then she was sliding across the tile, throwing Cotter's limp body aside, kneeling over Simon and barely able to form the words she needed between hiccuping sobs that built and burst before she could register them.

"No...nonononono' no bleeding. Stop" back" this isn't' please" please" Simon, I love you you can't' hold on, baby' please" don't leave me. You can't' back" back" stay' please?"

Calloway was startled as the redhead tore past him, his shotgun brought up to bear on the back of her head. Every moment since he'd arrived had built to this moment. All it took was one, simple squeeze of the trigger and Smitty would be avenged...

Her head bent over his, foreheads pressed together, her hands against his chest and outlined in crimson as she fought to keep him alive, fought to send enough blood back through his veins to keep shock at bay, fought knowing that a similar injury had almost defeated her once, and redoubled her efforts, her litany never faltering even as her tears fell and splashed across his cheeks.

Calloway blinked, staring down at her as those defenses broke. A moment of clarity overtook him, shaking him to his core. This was not who he was. This was not what he was. How had he gotten so low that he was willing to kill a grieving woman in cold blood" How far had he allowed himself to be pushed by his thirst for vengeance" The weapon lowered slowly, shame and pity on his face. His eyes lowered as he turned back toward the stairs, the door opening. He and Paige locked eyes for a beat, the woman reading him instantly. He was no threat. Not anymore.

Calloway moved toward the stairwell, but Paige stopped him in his tracks with what remained of her severed arm. Her eyes stern, she opened her hand, demanding his weapon. Calloway nodded and handed it over, taking one last glance over his shoulder at Faras and Toews. With that, Calloway moved down the stairs, and out of their lives.