It had become a ritual for Charlie; almost every night he found himself at Emlyn's apartment, waiting at her door with baited breath and school boy hesitation.

But not tonight. Oh no. A little bird, strangely beautiful in her dishevel, had clued him in with moans and whimpers and screams that took him awhile to piece together.

"She's gone Charlie! They took her away! Took her away and she's not hiding, she's gone!"

It was all that he needed to hear and it was the beast that strung mad ravings together before the man even had time to mutter out a strained goodbye.

Emlyn was gone. He didn't believe it, always took delirious rants with a grain of salt but something told him that it was true. Even as long legs ate the ground in a blind run, the dread he felt in the pit of his belly told him all that he needed to know.

The knocks on the door to the apartment that he had begun to think of as home fell on deaf ears. Almost deaf. Saxon howled and scratched at the other side but Charlie couldn't even think about the dog.

Emlyn was gone. Gone. What did it even mean?

He threw his head back, more monster than human in that instant, and his own pained howls joined the dog's in a chorus of grief. Mutt or not, the remnants of his own bloodline- creatures who shied away from humanity and their own kind, preferring the company of animals and the solitude of long, endless nights- clawed to the surface.

Hazel eyes, glassy and wild in the moonlight, lingered on the door before one well placed kick sent it flying several feet into the apartment.

Time flew by in a blur and both dog and man and the beast that lurked on the edges of Charlie Called Zipper's soul tore through room after room. Nothing was left unturned and nothing was sacred.

Nothing but the missing yellow eyed beauty.

One sister torn and the other torn away.

He caught the dog's chocolate colored gaze and kept it locked there as he held onto his last shred of reason.

"We'll find her boy. Don't you worry about that. We'll find her."

"Emlyn's gone? Where in the Hell did she go?"

She was listening as the redhead babbled on and mismatched eyes watched as he paced back and forth and back forth in front of her door. When the words finally did pierce through that thick skull of hers, those very same eyes widened. A mixture of emotions swirled behind blue and green- everything from sadness to confusion and finally anger.

"I met Audrey on the street," Charlie barked.

Actually barked. Well, that was never a good sign and the doberman staring up at her from it's spot next to the door made her feel uncomfortable. Like the damned thing was judging her.

It didn't occur to her that those six words were the most that she could remember ever hearing Charlie say.

"Yeah? Then what?"

"She said that they took her. Anthony Hodgekiss. Does that ring a bell, boss? Does it?"

Hysterical. That was the word, wasn't it? Strange how foreign it seemed when someone else was wearing it.

Cuyler fell into a lean against the doorway, arms crossed and gaze alternating between the Caitiff and the dog.

Emlyn was gone, huh? No. That couldn't be right.

It would have been written off if anyone else but Charlie had told her. The man was always so quiet and as she watched him hurl himself from one side of the hall to the other, her mind began to knit a network of dirty, stinky denial.

"Must be another Emlyn. Audrey is pretty damned crazy right now, ain't she? S'them damned Tories."

The words must have hit a cord because the man stopped and stepped towards her. He was a good three or four heads taller than her, intimidating as hell when he wanted to be, but she just looked up at him with a surprisingly level head and her jaw clenched shut.

"Why did I think that you would care, Cuyler? I don't know what I was thinking because it doesn't concern you, does it? Emlyn is somewhere out there and she's probably scared but you? You're just looking out for you, aren't you?"

The look in his eyes was heartrending and there was a stony finality to his voice that washed any doubt away, replaced it with the manic need to do something; anything. And there was guilt. No, couldn't forget that.

Stupid ginger was wrong about one thing though; she did care about Emlyn. It was something she would never, ever forgive the woman for.

"We'll find her, Zipper," and she was surprised at how different her voice sounded; comforting and calm and eager to ease that look from his face.

The man didn't say another word, just nodded his head the same way he had for years working under her, and he moved for the steps. The dog followed after him and as soon as they were out of sight, Cuyler slipped back into her room and slammed the door.

"Hodgekiss, eh? Hope ya like havin' the whole damned world shoved up your a*ss"

Her swelling had gone down, but she woke up every time the purple region of her face came into pressure of a pillow's cardboard-like texture. But finally, the crushing pinch of her cheek bone had awoken her for the last time. She sat up from the inch-thin cot that was bolted into the floor of concrete, and sat on its edge. She had no combs to arrange her hair. No makeup to paint her face with.

All she could think about was Charlie.

She had left. But it wasn't the way it seemed. She was taken away on very true, but not rightful charges. She was an outlaw again. Or was she always one with a luck that had gone dry? It had to have run out, her luck. It had to go sour right when she had found someone. Found someone who was patient, and loving. Someone as magnificently hidden from the social sphere as Charlie McIntosh...

It didn't take long before she tapped into the minuscule reserves of water she had taken in from that overturned cup of water they had pelted into her cell. Will it be the same? Will it be like it was before she was taken? Will he come to her home every night with that spectacular cologne he wore? Will he say he loved her anymore?

She had failed in some accidental way. What was in the past did not stay behind her. And it gained new wretched wings to carve entrails out of her insides. Out of her heart, more importantly. She stood from the bed limply. Her ankles were perfectly twisted, bruised from how she dragged her feet to stall the trek to this place.

It was all pointless, wasn't it? No, no it wasn't... She couldn't think that way..

It hurt to walk. But she had to move. Her face came to the bars, to press her head into them. Her tears had soaked the iron. And then, she heard a voice.

A voice?

Why the hell not? She was going crazy already.. Crazy without that redhead to hold her and kiss her fingertips.. Crazy without her sister's madness tearing her apart. Crazy without that blonde speaking pretty poems. She delighted so much in standing for that greater being. But.. But Charlie..

"I am here, Chaz... I'm far, far away.. But I'm alive. I cannot tell you for how long, my dear.. "

She spoke this with her mouth moving, but no voice came out. She had spent that night screaming, and mourning the repercussions of such imprisonment. And it was only beginning.

"Chaz dear.. I can hear you."

She looked out from in between the bars, lips dented by the steel bars while her lips moved.

Emlyn had been crying, gasping for breath beneath the muted screams her face had printed boldly.

"Chaz...You must help Audrey.. She needs you. And I need you, too. Please, my son.. Help us.."

She missed her Son too. Her creation. The newborn babe that stayed with her Sister.

Those sad-droopy eyes opened violently. She gasped. Her face drew away from the bars, as if coming up for air from a long bout underwater. Her chest was heaving, and she came to climb to stand atop of her bed. She looked up at the ceiling, and looked back through the cage of iron bars.

The iron bars were engraved with runes of anti-majestic properties. They disclaimed the energies that usually vibrantly glimmered from her center of force. The fire was suffocated into nothingness within, and she felt emptier with that vitality naturally surging through her.

But she was onto something. Even if it was delusion, she allowed herself to be lost in it. Just this once. She couldn't be lost in Charlie's love at the moment, so she chose the love of her Son. The object of her efforts. Those eyes were hollowed out, like the insides of a cut-out cantelope. They were yellow with a maddened sense of urgency, and she continued. She brought her hands to those painful walls. The very walls she clawed and slapped with scorn.

Her eyes were so wide. And unblinking. She was compelled. Enraged with the possibility. What if it was..?

So many questions answered, and she was standing tall, palms groping those walls with eagerness. She tapped those walls, hoping with invisible hope that if she hit the right spot on the wall, she'd be gone.

"They know I am gone?" She was mouthing this with a breathy whisper that was actually somewhat loud.

"Does Charlie know? Tell me, does he know that I was taken away?" She was pleading with the walls, begging it.

"I am surrounded by gray, in the solitary cells. I am at the Academy somewhere. Where they can probe me and my gems... And do what they must to steal more of me until there is no more.."

She talked fast, and with a wide-eyed raving speed that was near insane.

"The Academy, Chester.. That is where I am.. I'm hidden there. I do not think I am here officially. They are hiding me.. Please, Chester. Tell him. Tell Charlie McIntosh.. Tell him that I did not leave. That I was taken away.. Tell him that I miss him. And that I love him. Please, Chaz.. Tell him for your Mother. Do it for me.."

She was talking as if she was running out of time, when she had all the painful time in the world to lose what she held dear. But fate was so fickle, wasn't it? One moment, it was written. The next, rewritten. She continued to slide her hands along the walls, while standing on her cot.

With a distinct but muffled *Draaag*, the bare feet of a man was stuffed into the nearest broom closet very clumsily. Shoulder rams secured the door by the latch barely, as his back rested against the door in relief. The brown-haired, yellow-eyed man now wore the fully decorated uniform. The guy?s outfit did not fit perfectly, but he would fix that.

Damian was a very cunning boy.

His fingers pinched at the hem that was too short to cover the ankles of his long legs. The stiff fabric was stretched as if it were elastic like dough. It was adjusted at the wrist cuff to cover his wrists of his big hands. He stood a proud and sturdy 6?2. And as of now, he was a Representative. An intern, so to speak. A fellow beneath the prestigious and wretched Anthony Hodgekiss. He?d get his just desserts very, very soon.

But first thing?s first.

And he did mean first thing. No Family Reunions just yet. Mom never was good at hiding things. He walked down the hall with nonchalance. He wore the uniform very well. Had it been on other circumstances, he?d have admired himself in the mirror more than the seconds it took to adjust the one final touch.

Those yellow eyes had to go. For now. His hand came over his eyes, as if to pantomime a headache or silly comment. His hand lifted from his eyes. And they then were a rich, dark mocha. His hair was also parted to one side, and given a light application of mousse to allow for the clean-cut look. He was clean shaven, too. He made sure to brush up so he could pass for profession. He was outside the Facility. The Isolation Wing. It was tricky, because the prison itself was on the other side of the grounds. This was a specialized Department. Under its own jurisdiction, aside from the penitentiary portion. He grinned at himself. Anthony must have thought he was so clever, to have put her here. It was amazing what masquerading like a prospecting Mage student could accomplish for the purpose of reconnaissance. Chester was waiting for them outside, at the finish line.

The engine was running. Or at least, he specifically told Bro to do that. Whether or not he followed direction was up in the air. He hadn?t seen the guy in quite a while, and he?s changed even more than he himself did. He?s got a Southern twang that was ridiculously thick, which made him snort. Where he got that accent was beyond his reach. The formerly black rabbit, now posing as a Fellow of Mr. Hodgekiss got to the checkpoint gate.

The uniformed man in a white one-piece uniform stepped out. Damian stood up straight. He nearly forgot to remember not to salute to the guy and be excessive. He was just a suit. Just a formal, ambitious suit doing an errand for the big wig of the Academy.

?Afternoon son, what is it that I can do you for?? The man was just a blue-collar employee on the roster of the university. He was the service staff. Some days he?d mop the floors, other days he?d stand in front of this gate with a sign-in sheet.

?James Sutton, sir. On behalf of Headmaster Anthony Hodgekiss. I?m here to check on the status of inmate Zero. Emlyn Osiris.?

The Gatekeeper made a face. His lips pursed, and brows furrowed. ?Son, we usually get notification of those checkups. And I didn?t get a call earlier this morning..?

Damian kept up the rouse of being sturdy, until he crumbled into nervous and boyish chuckles. He added a downward glance, and brought a hand to scratch the back of his head of chocolate brown. ?Well, sir, I just got the position of Representative. Today?s my first day. I?m so sorry, I?m still learning the protocol for doing certain procedures..? He looked flustered, and had an air of frustration to his sheepish voice.

The guy scoffed. ?Alright, Mister Sutton. But you gotta make sure to have your office call us down here at least 4 hours in advance. There are things you should be signing, see. But for now, since you?re starting out, I?ll let you through.?

Broad, tall shoulders shuffled in relief, then sagging as he sighed with a grateful smile. ?Thank you so much. I?ll get it right next time I come down, you have my word.? He was an excellent liar. He believed the lie for the necessary amount of time, and acted natural. Playing pretend was something that wasn?t so hard for the Black Rabbiteer.

So far, so good. The gatekeeper grinned in acceptance of his gratitude, and walked to the barred down and opened it for him. The iron bars were engraved with the restrictive runes, as are the bars in the cells themselves. He walked past, and felt lighter. It was like the feeling of the stripping of gravity in an elevator. His stomach knotted, but he cleared his throat and proceeded down.

?Inmate Zero is the one on the end. To the right. She?s gentled down some since she came in, but I?d watch out. She?s unpredictable.?

Damian nodded receptively, taking in every word he said in that behavior of being a neophyte of a young Mage. And at his comment, his mind couldn?t help but trickle down the thought: ?You have no idea, Mister.?

He walked down the long row. The patients were both heavily sedated on anti-psychotics and other drugs in their systems to sedate them. It was a sad, sad place. He felt very heavy from the sights he saw. And he?d probably be even more heartbroken when he sees her. After all this time, the first time he?ll see her is to free her.

It was cruel, yet somehow appropriate in a very twisted way. When she called, even if it was by his Brother?s voice and distress, he would answer if the message deemed itself valid in its delivery.

He came to her cell, and stood tall. He was posing for her in his secretive way. First impressions were everything, even if a good three fourths of his will be entirely false. He came to bars, and adjusted his wrist. Out came a few bobby pins, a knife, and a screwdriver. He had some work to do. His hands went to work. All the while he peered between his handiwork and the insides of the cell. His heart sank as he worked even more feverishly. It was a knee-jerk reaction to call her Mom and call out to her. But he needed her quiet while he could concentrate. Clicks, clacks, and turning gears were heard along with the occasional clank of metal against metal. No magic was allowed here. But he would get her out. So help him, he would get her out.

Of all the many hours to be rescued, it was the hour she slept. No, not sleep. She was unconscious from pure exhaustion. She lied on the bed, no sheet provided in fear of her hanging herself off of the window?s bar or as a ghost mask to haunt the cell she was in. There was no rhyme or reason to anything here. But she felt steps pass, and only stirred. Her hair was mussed, beyond mussed. It was stuffed away into a half-assed ponytail.

But what got her attention was when the steps stopped in front of her cell. Her cell, by the door inside. She groaned, and came to sit up. The uniform was given a scowl with tired eyes, but she managed to stagger her way up. She came to cell?s bars and pressed into them with her face and body with a tired carelessness. It didn?t matter what her posture was, or how she carried herself. She wasn?t herself. And her hand reached out to that pricey uniform of trimmings and badges. It was wrenched, and pulled with strength much unexpected for a woman of her dimensions and energy level.

?I?m not telling you swine a damned thing. Not a f*cking thing. No matter what you think you can do, I have nothing to say. You?re wasting your time being here. Just let me rot. I?d rather that than to play your game of pin the tail on the scapegoat. That bastard Hodgekiss be damned..?

She balled up the contents of the back of her throat, and spat at his feet through the bars. Her eyes didn?t make contact with his higher ones. Her tone was eerily calm and monotone in that flat lifelessness of a voice.

He nearly lost the pins! They wiggled dangerously out of place. They all filled the right nooks, and hooked to the right gears and levers inside! His hands fumbled, looking to her with a stunned look while his palms cushioned the pins for them to stay comfortably where they were. He only saw hair, but he felt like he lost a good 3 or 4 feet from that tone. And that strength. Mom knew how to shake a man?s heels. He had been gone for far too long. Then again, the circumstances were very extraneous.

He cleared his throat, feeling the deep baritone to his voice escape him. He nearly squeaked, but disguised it with a masculine cough. ?We shall see about that, Miss Osiris. We have plans for you. Whether you like it or not, you?re part of something bigger.? He tried to talk tough, but he pulled off robotically stern decently well. He was taken aback by that harshness. That lack of concern of her well-being in her voice. Had she been here that long? Then again, prison can affect everyone in millions of different way.

Wait. But wait. Wait. She actually used those eyes to focus on something. They were opened perfectly fine, but she didn?t bother to use her mind?s perception to actually calculate what she actually saw. He was holding small spines into the lock, and was very confused. She snorted.

?Incompetent hounds. You lost your own keys to my damned cell? Maybe I should have tried what I thought impossible after all.? Throwing away that piece of cloth she held of his uniform, she walked to the inside of the cell and circled the floor in a pace. She was waiting to be transported. Interrogation, she assumed. Or worse.

When he pried opened the door, he couldn?t contain his grin. Eureka! The soft spot in that old rustic lock was easier than the German locks he was accustomed to breaching. Luckily, her back was to him for the moment he slipped from being in character. But he did allow a wry chuckle to escape his throat, while he pulled open the cell door. ?You weren?t told to talk. So don?t talk. Understand?? Well, that was crummy intimidation. Even with his firm tone, he thought it sounded idiotic.

He walked inside the cell, and came to grab her bicep. He got a good look at her while she paced away from him. She didn?t struggle. There was no point. She had taken enough damage. There was a dim purple outlining one of her eye sockets, just below her eyelid. And a healed wound of black slitted jaggedness on her forehead, with dried blood there. Her fingernails were broken, fingers dirtied with ground and grime. Her arm, he could feel, was a little swollen. And Emlyn wincing at his squeezing of her arm was further proof of a deep bruise there.

His own eyes closed in the shared pain of such a sight. His beloved mother, so brutally harmed. And none of her wounds were fresh. They were all days old. She?d been here for days, now. And Anthony be damned if Damian had caught glimpse of her state the day of her horrid arrival. He guided her by the arm in a feigned forceful gesture. He tried so hard not to give himself away. Not to hold her, pick her up, and carry her to the car where they all waited. She had quite a welcome home party planned for her.

?Stop.. Don?t touch me! Sto- Agh!? She was wrenched, and walked out the door. Her eyes were far away from his face. What did it matter. She?d seen thousands of those before. Men in uniform meant pain. They meant cruelty.

Most of all, they meant finger puppets to the very king of swine himself. She had to sloppily jog to keep up with the long strides of the taller man that escorted her. The gate keeper rushed from his desk, and extended his hand toward them.

The gatekeeper was passed, ignored, and he ran to the desk telephone. ?Stop right there, kid! Hey, let the girl go! How?d you get in there!? That inmate has no clearances to exit her cell! Breach! Code Red!?

The second they passed the field, Damian hauled the woman into his arms in the bridal style. And he turned back to the gatekeeper. ?Go ahead! Tell him. He?ll connect the dots.? But he turned quickly, and broke into a jolt. The man began yelling into the phone at the receptionist to connect him. Panic had his words yelled and rushed. The elevator was bypassed, those could be shut down. It was to the stairs, where they?d ascend and get back to the humming Cadillac he anticipated to be outside.

?You?ve got quite the grip, Mom. Glad we got you outta there.? He chimed this with boyish triumph as he jogged the steps. ?Come on, snap out of it. You?ve never seen me before, but I?ll explain it to you later. What you need to remember, if you can, is that I?m back. And that my name is Damian. And that I came back for you.?

Emlyn was drained, tired. Angry, but malnourished. It was only a few days. But those few days were without food, with dirty water, and little to no sleep. She looked pounds lighter, and a skin tone far too clammy and pale in contrast to her colored porcelain skin of cream. She was so very weak, but she had energy with the astonishment. ?You?re.. You?re my black rabbit?!?

He laughed and came out to the surface. The Ground level. He saw the headlights of the Cadillac, and slowed his jog to a hurried walk. ?I?m back home now, Mom. I heard that you were in trouble from Br- Chaz.? He was so happy to see her, even in such a state, and to hear her voice, even if it wasn?t the usual warm pure syrupy sound he would drift to sleep to. ?We?re almost there, hang on. I don?t know what they did to you, but you?re safe now, Mom. We?re all here to help! Don?t I look handsome?? He tried to insert humor in the oddest ways. But he was happy, even if misted with the anger of horrible promises to the bastard that did this to her. But he wasn?t alone in feeling that way. ?We need to get you out of the spotlight. You were in the paper! We?ll catch up later, okay? You have others wanting to see you too.?

He finished his introduction, reunion, and explanation right before he got to the car. Right on time.

The pain doesn't register like it should. It's a steady, burning crawl up her side, along her shoulder. Just a lucky shot and Cuyler isn't aware of what has hit her until the bright copper bloom of blood spreads across the baby blue of her t-shirt. She looks down and blinks wide, disbelieving eyes. "Well...sh*t." A pitiful declaration of surprise and she stumbles back. Booted feet slip in an attempt to steady themselves on the slick black paint of Caddy's top but it's in vain. She tumbles off of the car, the gun following behind, and both girl and firearm smack the ground.

Emlyn's fatigue yet again was discarded, and her hands clawed for the door. "CUYLER!" She opened the door, and collapsed onto the snow to shuffle toward her friend. The white jump suit was stained with the orangey brown clumps of diluted blood. She didn't think to remember that she had stains of preventative Runes on her arms still, or that she was now on a silver platter for gunfire. Only for her friend, and the child that was yet to be born into the world. The doctor and friend came into a marriage of worry and horror, and she crawled through the snow to her.

"Mah! Get in here!" That's all that it takes. The fear devours any further attempts at staying human and sitting in the driver's seat isn't a tall lanky young man with an Outsider's smile, but a trembling blue eyed white rabbit.


It doesn't occur to Zipper that their driver is now white and fuzzy and dropping rabbit pellets all over the plush leather seats of the Cadillac. All that he knows is that Emlyn is in trouble. He looks back to Damian before moving out of the car. Boots crunch snow underfoot and he stops just behind Emlyn, stares at the girl lying crumpled on the ground. The other goons are closing in and it's painfully obvious that there's not time for this. For any of it. He wraps his arms around Emlyn's waist and tugs her to her feet, pulls her body against his. "Emlyn, come on. Please. Come on." And he tries not to stare at the broken form of Cuyler sprawled out on the snow. Another fallen brother. So commonplace that he's almost growing used to it. He ushers Emlyn towards the open door.


"Sombitches shot my ass." She spits the words out just as a heavy stream of crimson escapes her lips. She grabs the handle of the driver's side door and pulls herself up. Mismatched eyes that are slowly hazing over in a thick film of shock dart over to Emlyn. "Just get in the car...everything'll be alright. Just gotta sleep. Need a driver." She slumps over and into the open window; the gun called "Bart" left behind in the snow, and slowly slips through. She tumbles into the driver's seat and eyes widen with a sharp bite of pain.

?Mother no!? He reached for her with long arms, but only slid through her panted legs before she was on the ground. He crawled on the seat of the Cadillac to grope for her legs. He frowned at himself, but saw Zipper zoom in for the acquisition. And he heard the altercation continue. He was far too slow. Far too distracted with his mother and his success of saving his mother to watch over the very center of their mission. Guilt welled up inside of him, and he saw his Mother scream for the inalienable right to live about to be stolen from another truer mother and her even truer unborn child.

And all he can think of doing is snatching up the white rabbit from the front seat of the car. He put him in his lap, his dearly petrified brother that fell to his fear. He wanted to retreat now to his own form himself, but refrained. He didn?t deserve such luxury. He would instead hold his brother to calm him while his mother?s hysterics were dealt with.

Emlyn fought Charlie pointlessly, ?No! Cuyler! The baby!!? But she was hauled like a feather off the ground. She was shooed, or crammed in the passenger?s side. She had gone to the far ends of extremes too soon, and sat there in an empty form of exhaustion. She saw the bloodied Cuyler come into the driver?s side, and felt raw. She was not one of passion, or of outbursts. But there she was flailing and screaming, weeping constantly while this endeavor came to a tragic close.

Charlie takes each wild blow with stride. He can't afford to freak out now, give into the fear that everyone else seems to be swimming in. Emlyn is passed off reluctantly to her son, as gently as if she were made of porcelain. He can't relish in the rescue, at least not now. He rushes to the driver's side door. Any fear of Audrey's wrath involving the condition of her car is the least of his concerns. They have to get out, get out now and on top of such a risky endeavor, Cuyler is hurt. He opens the door and slides his arms beneath her legs, behind her shoulders and pulls her out. It's all happening so fast and the grave robber is passed off as easily as if she were a sack of straw to Damian.

Chester watches the goings on with scared, wide beady blue eyes. He squirms out of his brother's lap, wedges himself between a safe spot between the door and the seat. He's of no use now, and that failure is as glaring as his mother's distressed state and the blood stain spreading across the front of Cuyler's shirt.

"Mother fuggin'..." Is she floating? There's Zipper and the yellowed eyed prodigal son. There's Emlyn. She gives the latter a bright, bloody toothed smile. It is a gesture meant to soothe air of dread filling the old car and it doesn't go unpunished. When was the last time she had felt pain like that? Her hands slip to her stomach in a too little too late defensive movement. "Least Baby Booger is still here. We did it, you sombitches." She blinks to keep her eyes focused on the ceiling. When she speaks again, her voice is little more than a strained whimper. "..ain't gotta worry 'bout ol' Quinn."

The Glen is no place to drive a Caddy, but Zipper doesn't have too much trouble maneuvering the car over hills and down woodland paths. A home cooked meal, one that he can't enjoy, but the sound of Emlyn's stomach screaming for food gives him enough hope to keep on driving. He checks on them, the boy with the yellow eyes, the rabbit, his beloved and his boss every so often but he's fallen into an all too comfortable silence.

Chester has dozed off in Emlyn's lap, one foot twitching and that erratic breathing growing steadier by the second. Soft and slow inhalations. His mother is alright; bruised and broken, but alive. He isn't happy, no but he's slowly getting there again.

Somewhere along the ride, Cuyler finally dozed off thanks to a combination of too much blood loss and the rush of the night finally wearing away. The ragamuffin bandage tied around her shoulder is stained crimson, but the blood is already cold.

She was not allowing herself to doze. And the terrain did a good job at keeping her up. Every single shift, bump, and bounce was felt. Some part of her body would send signals to her brain to register pain each and every time. If her head didn't hurt, her stomach did. If not her stomach, her ankles. If not her ankles, her face. If not her face, her voice. Her eyes peered out of the frosted window as the world bounced around them, when really it was them that bounced about the world on their way to the shack. Or wherever it was they were going. The shack didn't have a shower, did it? She could care less if she had to walk naked into a nearby lake or creek if she had to. Hygiene, however attained, was definitely in order.

She would need a comb. And some sort of lather for her hair. But she wouldn't ask for much beyond that. Style was a faraway concern for the Mage Adept outlaw. It was all about her basic physiological needs. And yes, she included being held and consoled by the one she loved a -very- physiological need.

Damian watched his Mother so carefully. A hand never left her hand, firmly being there, as he watched between her and the window. His brother was resting like the newborn he was. He wasn't that much older, but he had more fortitude than he. His lock picking skills weren't attained from an all nighter of reading Lock Picking for Dummies, that was for sure. He did have a lot of explaining to do to his Mother. And he was fully prepared to take whatever consequences may follow. He was so angry before, and hurt. But with her in such a state, it made the pettiness disappear without a trace.

The shack comes into view, tucked away behind the skeleton toothed tombstones surrounding the old undertaker's domicile. A man as dead as those that he had once watched over. Zipper pulls the car behind the shack and well out of view, just in case there were still some of those goons following them. He lets the car idle and strokes the dashboard in a gesture akin to petting a horse after a race long since won. He kills the ignition and lets himself relax against the seat. "Damian? Can you get your mother into the house? I'll take care of Cuyler." If he doesn't, who will? And the bonding between Emlyn and her creation is very, very important.

"Too much gravy.." The girl snaps back to life as soon as the car stops. Glassy mismatched eyes dart around the inside of the car, unfocused and wide. "I got it Zipper...Zipperdidooda.." So much effort for just three extra syllables. As soon as the door is open, she stumbles out and staggers a good five feet away from the car before finding her footing. She winces and presses a hand to her shoulder once again. "...hurts like a bitch."


"Sure." Said as simple as that. He, however, was blocked into the car. He could not open the door for his mother like he wanted. But Emlyn had taken that much initiative and opened the door for herself. Ever the independent one, even when brutally injured, that Mage. She got herself out of the truck with the atrophied slowness of a near elderly person. All the while, minding that slumbering rabbit ever so carefully. What was it to agitated already-existing bruises and scrapes to preserve a small rabbit's slumber? It was enough for her to take the brunt of the blows on behalf of Chester.

She was weak and injuried, and took a selfish, clumsy, painful shove of a lean against the vehicle. She waited for Damian to emerge out of the car. The yellow eyed man towered over his mother once he came to stand before her, and lowered to hook her knees and scoop her into his arms with an effortlessness most guys had with lifting a woman of Emlyn's stature. She held the White rabbit while the rabbit of Black held her. It was strange, her Children coming together so dutifully for their mother. But she enjoyed such a connectivity with the two. Even if the former had a lot of explaining to do.

Damian minded her as he slowly came to the shack. But the door was closed. Therefore, he'd wait for one of the residents to open the door for them. He took this opportunity to look about them for any more apprehenders. He spied none. But what he did spy made him wince even worse. The Cadillac... had taken some bullet holes. Audrey was going to be maaaaaaaaaaad... And he gave a piteous look downwards to sleeping Snow White in the Fairy God Mother's arms.

Any attempts to help Cuyler were slapped away. Charlie figures that the girl would fight with the Grim Reaper himself if he showed up. He sighs and those long legs carry him in slow strides to Emlyn and Damian. He gets a good look at Emlyn, a really good look, and strokes the side of her face with a gentle caress of his knuckles. "I love you, Emlyn Osiris." It's spoken as if he fears he may never get to say it again.

A nod to Damian, one of respect, and the giant redhead stalks to the shack, unlocks the door and swings it wide open. A long, sharp black and tan furred head peeks around the doorjamb, devil cut ears perked up. They may not see it but Saxon's stub for a tail is wagging feverishly.

She's running on pure piss and vinegar at this point. After a few minutes of weaving awkwardly through tombstones, Cuyler manages to stagger into the shack. Rest, relaxation and a blood transfusion coupled with some crafty street surgery will do her a world of good. Everything in the shack smells like dust and the mold of abandonment. Carrot, her dearly devoted Hound of Cain is nowhere to be seen, and she finds herself strangely grateful for that. The couches are already made up with sheets and pillows and heavy woolen blankets.

She looks over her shoulder to Saxon before collapsing onto one of the sofa's, passed out like a dead dog in the Summer heat. Even so, there's a huge grin on her face.

Damian didn't give a sour or aggravated look to Charlie for a second of it. He saw love, then and there. And the other time where he made lunch of out of White Coat. He wished he had been able to see it, since it sounded pretty cool. But he smiled at his mother for receiving such love. Emlyn was always making objects of her love, and here she was being another's object of love. It seemed as it should be. He had to refrain adding an eerie, 'Me too Mom!' in. It was a romantic grown-up moment for the two of them. They had been apart for so very long. 4 days. But when in love, it was 4 lifetimes. He also, understood that.

Emlyn was held up to their level, since she was a few inches below their eye-to-eye altitudes. When he brought his knuckles to her face, she suppressed the wince that was felt when anything touched her face. But the cold to his fingertips eased that bite of fierce pain that was at her face. "I love you too, Charlie McIntosh." God, she did. She had counted, re-counted, and categorized all those many ways. But she gave a look to Cuyler, then to Damian.

"We may need some maggots to take care of whatever rotting flesh might have begun to form around the wound. I'll need plyers, a hot plate, two dishes of water, and soapey water. Stat..." Spoken as if that white Doctor's coat never went off. She was in no state to perform a removal of the bullet. But she looked to Damian. "For now, just keep it as clean and disinfected as possible until I can get to it sometime tomorrow.. I don't care who does it, but it needs to be cleaned immediately."

But even so, the hand that had shielded her face had locked a single index finger to one of Charlie's. It was a weak gesture, but one that would have to do in her state. But the dog was peered down at next with a smile. "Oh Saxon.. It's good to see you too, Ich habe dich auch vermisst Junge."

And that dog's chocolate eyes were wide and alight with his paws and presence holding tight to Damian's, the one that carried her. "It's better that she gets it cleaned while she slumbers. Since narcotics aren't an option with her expecting. I'll have her..admitted to the clinic tomorrow. I can call in a favor with one of the Attendings. His son is one of the paramedics in the ambulance agency we're affiliated with." And there was her salvation. Those tears, her wounds. Not at all addressed. But everything else around her was. Objectivity was what kept her from being the same listless mess that was in the car just moments ago.

"Emlyn, you need to worry about yourself." He's not speaking out in bias, but out of experience. Zipper looks to his boss, his old buddy in battle, and turns away when his eyes catch sight of the wound. Emlyn isn't any better, but if she's talking about stitching someone up then he knows she will be fine. He motions for Damian to bring her to the couch against the farthest the wall, the couch that he and Emlyn had shared intimate embraces and activities that had been far less innocent.

"I'll patch Cuyler up and then I'll start cooking. Soup, is that alright? Just a change of plans." He hurries to the makeshift kitchen at the other end of the room. The forlorn squeak of a disused pipe heralds the water that ushers forth; first rusty red before tapering off into crystal clear.

Emlyn was moved with care to the couch, Damian staying quieter than death until he was preparing things for her. He was a respectful Black Rabbit. Not as lazy and fat and sleep-addicted as when Emlyn possessed him the way that she did. But he still had manners. He set her down on the couch he had no idea was used as a love-making canvas for the two less than a month ago. When she was set down, even the worn-down couch felt like a cloud of opulent comfort compared to the metallic cot she had been laying on the past 4 days. "He's right, Mom... You need some patching up too.?

"I wasn't shot." Beaten, yes. Abused, yes. Neglected, yes. But she had been through all those horrific one-sided dances before.. It was something nearly forgotten, but not new to her. "I'll be fine after a few days. With some rest and nourishment I will be fine." Case closed, so she thought. "Cuyler needs blood. I have her blood type on file, and reserved two pints for just such an occasion."

Actually, it was in case she bled out too much during childbirth. But this would do just fine. She would have more time to stow away a couple of more pints that would get lost in the system anyway. August was quite a while away. "It's just lots of swelling and deep bruising. Two twisted ankles too." They were all very reversible non-life threatening wounds.

"Damian.. I need a-" And he had already removed the jacket of his uniform to drape it on top of the woman, along with the shoulder-draping cape to be placed on leg. "Thank you."