Chapter Text
Relief washed over him when Sevika finally left. Silco wasn't sure how much longer he could keep his composure. It was easy to remain calm and collected when the decisions didn't burn one's soul. Now wasn't the time to resurrect old ghosts and memories he wished would stay in the past.
With an index finger, he traced the curve of your face frozen in time. There was no mistaking you. It wasn't a doppelganger or ghostly image to haunt him—a reminder of his own betrayal. Over the years, Silco learned how to control his emotions. He knew Sevika watched to see what he might give away with this little surprise. He could only portray indifference with just another adversary to deal with and move on.
Silco's stomach churned, yet it wasn't from hunger. He wasn't sure how much Sevika was privy to. However, he wasn't sure he wanted to know, either. In the end, Sevika's confession sealed your fate more than the accusation of treachery. Even now, Silco never dared ask the woman who saved his life how she came to such knowledge or if it was even true.
Now, it didn't matter. Silco believed it, believed his friends. There was no changing the past.
This is all I know, Silco. I have nothing else. Please don't take it from me.
His first memory of you was a girl covered in soot and ash―a skinny waif of a thing, even though you weren't much smaller than himself. You were crafting a blade, and he couldn't take his eyes off the lone girl amongst the hardy men of the Foundry as Vander spoke to your father about joining the Cause. The scent of fire and metal permeated the dank air, with the drumming sound of hammers in time creating red sparks in all directions.
Silco came up to your side, peering over your shoulder.
It was the ugliest side-eye he'd ever seen. Silco smirked. Clearly, you didn't care being under his examination.
"That's good work," he praised the would-be knife. It was so good; he was tempted to offer a fair price once finished.
"Fuck off," you grumbled.
Ooh, she really doesn't like people judging her work, Silco grinned.
Your father's craggy voice yelled across from the sweltering kilns in admonishment.
"Don’t talk to these men that way, and watch your language, young lady.”
You coughed and muttered under your voice, not caring that the Sons of Zaun had paid a visit.
Taking his daughter out of the Foundry was the deal struck by your father, not because you were unskilled but because he was fearful for your health and safety. Vander wasn’t keen on it, not wanting to babysit some girl. Still, Silco saw talents they could use, not to mention the entertainment that could be had with an untamed fire for such a grimy little girl. Your father noted you had an aptitude for fixing things, and there was a laundry list of needs to fill your time and out of the way of the more essential duties of men. You were still a girl.
Silco put you to work repairing numerous items in the pub and for rebel associates to ‘earn your keep’. You were scrappy, not wanting or ever asking for help. Silco would have said you were mute except for the infrequent forced answer to a question or, your favourite, telling men to fuck off.
Under all that dirt were violet eyes that occasionally stared at him with a questioning. Did you believe your father sold you? It wasn’t common, but it happened to some Underground girls. Silco could only imagine what you might be thinking since you rarely spoke. A young woman alone in the company of strange men. Were you worried they might take advantage and require you to acquire new skills?
Silco kept his distance at first, acting more as a supervisory figure and chaperone. Although it appeared a grease monkey of a girl didn’t need one. You took your meals and slept in the cellar with a bolted door as the men practically ignored you, except to crack a joke at your appearance.
After a few weeks, you begrudgingly accepted Silco poking around in your personal space. You didn’t feel the need to be as defensive with him as the others—some of the time.
“When was the last time you had a bath?” Silco japed, leaning against the wall, watching you repair the jukebox. “A year ago?”
“When was the last time you minded your own business?”
Silco barked out a laugh. Needling you had become one of his favourite pastimes.
“Everything is my business, little grease monkey,” he chuckled.
“Don’t call me that,” you shot back as a wrench clattered to the floor.
“You’re right. Not very feminine, is it? Would you prefer Ash or Soot?”
The scowl you shot him made Silco smile. Untying his unruly hair, he scratched all around his scalp. He needed a shower. Gazing at you, he shook his head, not understanding how you could stand being filthy all the time.
“I don’t give a shit how I look”, you snarled at his continued staring and returned to the machine. “Leave me alone, and let me finish.”
A shrug graced his shoulders as Silco lit a cigarette, bobbing between his lips as he spoke.
“I don’t care how you look either, but if you’re going to live here, could you at least be clean?”
“What’s the point? I’ll be dirty again, then have to wash again…”
“That’s is the point, sunshine. Everything you touch leaves a black mark.”
“If I’m so useless, then send me home. My father doesn’t care if I’m dirty. The more people that leave me alone, the better.”
Silco furrowed his brows at that remark.
“I didn’t say you were useless, kid. We made a deal. Your father wants you safe and healthy. There isn’t a safer place in the Undercity than here.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Yes, I can see that.”
“Then just leave me alone. I don’t bother you guys. I earn room and board. I’m angry my father basically traded me to you, but you don’t own me.”
“You’re putting words in my mouth.”
“Shit,” you cursed, cutting your hand, putting the wound to your mouth, cleaning off the blood. “Ugh, don’t you have something better to do?”.
“Not at the moment.” Silco took a long draw and exhaled a perfect ring of smoke, noticing your bleeding hand. “Here, let me look at that.”
You wrenched your hand away from him, but he was faster, grabbing those dirty fingers.
“Ow, that fucking hurts.”
“Well, hold still,” he said, turning your hand over. It wasn’t too deep a cut, but it needed to be cleaned. “That’s going to get infected.”
“I’ll clean it later,” you coughed out.
The air was slightly cleaner than down in the Foundry. Silco wondered if it would have any effect, as your father had hoped. He should have sent you up and out of the trenches. However, there weren’t many jobs for girls up there unless you wanted to work in a brothel. Some were known to disappear altogether near the ports due to pirates selling their bounty in the Undercity instead of Piltover. Silco chuckled to himself.
They wouldn’t want a girl lacking in hygiene anyway.
“No, now,” he ordered, taking in your filthy appearance. “In fact, right now. All of you.”
Silco took your elbow, pulling you across the room until you punched his arm. Hard.
He knew you didn’t like to be touched, but he wasn’t about to let you hit him, either. Silco pinched the cigarette, pulling another draw, watching you readying yourself like a pint-sized cage fighter.
“Okay. That’s it,” he huffed out smoke, throwing the cigarette on the floor.
Silco marched over, ducking a swing, before throwing you over his shoulder. You weighed less than he thought as you kicked and beat his back with greasy fists.
“Put me DOWN!”
“What I should do is take you topside and dump you in the river,” he grunted, holding your legs down after the last hard kick to his stomach. “Granted, you might make it more polluted than it already is.”
Silco took two steps at a time, hauling the stairs to the second floor. He, Vander and a couple of others had their rooms up here with a single shared bathroom. You never stepped foot upstairs until now. Fingers ripped at the back of his flowing hair, yanking his head back.
“I’ll shave your head if you try that again,” he warned, smacking your ass hard enough to leave a mark.
In the cellar, Vander allowed you to make it a makeshift workshop—one cot with a small sink and toilet. If one wanted a shower, you had to go upstairs. Every night, you locked and bolted that door, but at the time, Silco couldn’t understand why. Maybe some men were desperate or had strange kinks, but most weren’t going down there to fuck a girl that looked like that, let alone one that acted like a banshee.
A dim light illuminated the small bathroom as he dumped you in the shower. Silco hit the faucet, and the pipes rumbled and squealed until cloudy, warm water finally spurted out. The entire time, you fought him as he held you against the cracked and stained tile.
Cranking the showerhead, he sprayed your face, stopping your assault on him. Silco stepped back, half-soaked, looking at the dark water pooling in the basin. Pulling on his shirt, he cursed. It was not only drenched but filthy.
“I really like this shirt,” he whinged, yanking the garment over his head, revealing a lean, wiry, pale figure.
That movement froze you to the spot, eyes widening. It was the first time Silco saw fear in your face since you came here. He knew what you were thinking with his exposed bare upper body and both of you alone in the building.
“Since you’re in here,” he cleared his throat, grabbing a bar of soap and tossing it and his shirt to you. “Clean that too. You’re the reason it’s dirty.”
You didn’t move, moulding yourself into the dingy shower tile. Silco placed his hands on his hips in annoyance. You couldn’t be serious. You were no more desirable than a sewer rat.
“Wash up, clean my shirt, or I’ll come in and scrub you down myself,” he ordered. When he didn’t receive a response, Silco took two steps before you immediately nodded.
“Got it,” you replied.
“Good.”
Silco was about to close the door behind him when a soft voice called after him. Surprised at the sudden dulcet tone that sounded suspiciously like a girl, Silco waited curiously.
“May I install a lock on this door? Anyone could walk in and…”
You looked so meek and shy suddenly, Silco couldn’t help the slight twitch of his lips.
“No problem,” he agreed. “Why didn’t you say anything before? It isn’t like we’re used to a girl living with us. I’m surprised your father allowed that. Unless Vander never told him where you would be staying.”
“I didn’t think any of you would care what a girl needed,” you replied.
“No one has… harmed you, have they?” Silco hadn’t given it serious thought before. “I know you bolt your door at night.”
“Well, I’ve learned the hard way that what men say and do are completely different things,” you mumbled and closed the door.
Silco couldn’t imagine there were many women where you came from, especially down in the forge. It would be a fool’s errand to hurt the daughter within her father’s vicinity. Still, some men would take whatever they could get, he figured. A girl was a girl, even if she looked like a grease monkey.
Changing his shirt, Silco grabbed a pair of pants and another shirt for you to switch into. You didn’t bring many belongings besides some tools and a few niceties. Knocking on the door, it cracked open enough that a wary eye could see him. Clothes passed through before another slam of the peeling wood slab.
Silco checked his watch, wondering where everyone was today. You were safe without him having to guard the door, yet he stayed put. Strange, he hadn’t thought about that before, either. Anyone could have walked in on you.
That is most likely why she hasn’t showered yet. In a pub full of strange men…
Perhaps your clothes would be clean and dry when Vander returned, and they could all marvel at the clean little pet they adopted.
Hinges finally squeaked after some time, forcing Silco to turn around.
She took long enough, Silco smirked. He thought it would take several bars of soap to clean that mess and hoped you didn’t leave the bathroom a cesspool.
A pale hand pulled the door back, sliding from the sleeve of his shirt, which was too big. A mess of wet silver curls drooped down as you adjusted the belt to keep his pants on your tiny waist.
Silver.
It was glistening silver, he mused, hidden underneath all that muck that made your hair look like coils of rusted wires. Little toes peaked from the hem of his pants. Silco’s eyes took you in from your waist to those curls and then a face with vibrant eyes—translucent eyelashes, long and wispy against pale, freckled skin, encompassing those irises in shades of lavender and violet.
His lips parted in shock. This wasn’t the same girl. He was about to look down the drain for the little grease monkey because the clean girl wearing his clothes was a lovely thing―a woman, older than he initially believed. You weren’t the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, yet you were striking in your own way. It was more of astonishment at what lay beneath layers of dirt and grime.
You fidgeted at his prolonged gaze, clearly not liking it. How could he not stare? His mouth quirked with amusement. The spell broke when you threw his wet but now clean shirt at him.
“Are you happy now? May I go back to what I was doing?” you asked, trying to take control of the awkwardness.
“Happy, yes.” He grinned, unable to stop looking at you. “I hope you didn’t bust the pipes with the shit that just washed off. The sewers will back up.”
There it was, finally, a hint of a smile. Silco could see your terrible clothes, as clean as they were going to get, hanging on the shower rod, making a note to find something suitable. You certainly couldn’t go back to wearing those rags.
Shifting again, your eyes looked at everything except him. “May I go?”
“Not quite,” he replied, observing your hand. “Come with me.”
Sitting at a table near the bar, Silco grabbed a box of bandages they kept handy and a salve for the cut. In this light, he couldn’t get over how different you looked, quite pretty, in fact. Dressing your hand in silence, Silco stifled a few lustful thoughts. He spied sweet little breasts inside his shirt, a long neck and plump lips that were…
“I tell you, if I have to crack the skull of another Enforcer, it will be too soon,” Benzo hollered as he and Vander came into the pub with several men in tow. Finding Silco with a rather pretty silver-haired girl, Benzo bust out a laugh.
“Got yourself a quick shag while we were hard at work, eh?” he sputtered as several others joined in the joke.
Silco stood abruptly, putting distance between you, your back still to the men.
“That’s how communication works, you know. It would have been nice to know where you were going,” he frowned, taking out a cigarette. “Grease monk—I mean, Ash, managed to fix the jukebox, and since we’re all here, we might as well have a drink to Benzo finally getting his hands dirty.”
His eyes turned to you, and Silco noticed your change of demeanour. It all became clear why when the first man made the first leering gesture.
“It can’t be,” a shocked voice rang out.
Then another. “Wooo, look at that. Haha, who knew that was under several inches of shit. Did you scrub her down yourself?”
“Wearing your clothes, Silco? How convenient!”
“She can wear my clothes any time…”
Your face said it all. Now Silco understood. You dressed like that for a reason. You wanted to look dirty and untouchable.
I’ve learned the hard way that what men say and do are completely different things.
A few more catcalls and whistles made your spine stiffen, and fists clench.
“Leave her alone,” Silco cautioned lightly. They had teased you for looking like a wretch for weeks, and now you had to sit there and endure this, too.
Silco eyed Vander to put a stop to it, or he would.
“Alright, lads. Even a clean girl is just a girl,” he japed, but those words made you frown, Silco noticed. “Let her be. She’s under my protection, so hands off. You know who her father is.”
Silco served up several drinks to the men. When you moved to leave, he grabbed your shoulder, telling you to stay seated at the table. The men were rowdy and talking about the recent scuffle with Enforcers.
Silco slapped a bottle of whiskey on the table, taking a seat next to you, serving as a warning to the others.
“Here.” He pushed a shot over to you. “You’re going to need this. It’s only going to get worse.”
After some time, the talk devolved into lewd macho brassiness, just as he expected. Every so often, Silco would glance at you, gauging your tenacity. If you tried to leave again, he wouldn’t stop you. Surprising him again, you took a deep breath, sat back, and slightly let down your guard. You couldn’t hide anymore and knew it.
Downing the whiskey in one gulp, your slender hand slid the glass over to him with fire and sarcasm flashing in your eyes.
“This time, don’t give me such a weak pour,” you bit out, causing a roar of laughter.
Silco grinned. Holding his cigarette with one hand, he poured you both a double. You downed it like any man would, to his amusement as others cheered.
Smart, Silco thought. She’s not so naïve after all. Play the part. Be one of the guys.
After a while, you joined the conversation when it turned to politics and revolution. Silco leaned back and regarded you in a new light. For someone so usually quiet, you were more than observant and had an interesting take on events from a woman’s point of view.
You weren’t some ditzy girl most men would bed and immediately forget. In a way, you reminded him of Sevika, who also had quite the opinion and didn’t shirk from voicing it.
Like her father, he smiled—a revolutionary at heart.
Silco’s eyes found Vander gazing at him with raised eyebrows. Silco rolled his eyes and shook his head.
No, I’m not going to fuck her, Vander. Relax.
Granted, he wasn’t dead below the waist either. Silco could see how other men looked at you in this new and carnal light. You had a rather lovely body under his clothes. He couldn’t help but wonder what your preference might be, a big man like Vander, one such as himself, or perhaps you would be more interested in a woman like Sevika. There was beauty and pleasure in both sexes.
A few hours and too many drinks later, people were heading out—home to sleep it off, fuck or do whatever it was they did at night. Four stragglers were so drunk that Silco thought they would probably pass out before getting through the door.
Silco felt you stand and steadied yourself. He admired you could hold your drink in a group of soused men who had been drinking since childhood.
When you wobbled a bit, Silco grasped your wrist. “You okay?”
“Yeah. I need to sleep this off,” you muttered with a smile.
Today's transformation was one of the strangest and most entertaining things he had seen lately.
Silco snuffed out his cigarette, watching you slowly move towards the hallway leading to the cellar. Two men at the bar watched, too. As one clapped the back of his friend, getting up to follow, and Silco shook his head. Men were so predictable.
In one day, he understood more about this girl than probably most people. Silco knew what it was like to be singled out. For him, it was for different reasons, but it all came down to the most basic of all things―survival.
Silco strode across the room with lightning speed, blocking the man’s intended path.
“Put your claim on her?” the drunk man slurred, trying to push Silco aside. “You’ve had her already. She’s up for grabs…”
Silco smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Touch her, and I’ll break your fingers. You’ll have to learn to use your toes to wank that tiny cock.”
“Vander, call off your dog,” the man yelled.
Vander shrugged and went back to his pint, ignoring him. That action meant only one thing; he gave control to Silco instead.
“Vander said before that she is not to be touched,” Silco rumbled. “We honour our agreements here. Her father will gut you like a fish…but…”
A wicked thought came to mind with a mischievous grin.
“You know what? Why don’t you go ahead,” he said, stepping aside to everyone’s shock. “You do know what she has down there, don’t you? I bet you don’t, so let me enlighten you.”
Silco draped a lazy arm around the man’s shoulder.
“She makes her own knives and other things I don’t even want to know about. I’ll make a wager with you. If she hasn’t castrated you and shoved it down your throat, then I say you have a sporting chance.”
The man audibly gulped, and Silco grinned from ear to ear.
After that, no one bothered you again. You didn’t need to know that Silco made a few light-hearted threats he intended to carry out as the months progressed. You had become friends, and even Vander didn’t seem to mind Silco’s brotherly affection for you. Whatever sexual attraction he had was buried, instead, joking as siblings would.
It wasn’t until your father died that month from a heart attack that you came to rely on him more. If there was a problem or question, you came to him, not Vander. In turn, Silco took you under his wing.
What struck Silco wasn’t that you were intelligent and clever but that you believed in him. Something he hadn’t truly felt, even from Vander. Silco found he wanted you along on more smuggling raids and spying on Topsiders. In part, it was a way to get you in fresher air, and another was protection. No one would touch you while attached to his side. Silco tried to tell himself it was avuncular in nature, even glaring at would-be prospects, eyeing you as a potential mate.
Thick as thieves, Vander used to say― his annoying siblings out causing trouble. Silco and his kid sister, Ash.
It was hard for you, losing your father, the only real parent you had known. There was a supposed mother out there somewhere you never talked about, and he never pressed the issue. Silco, an orphan, had no memory of his parents—no family to call his own. He was used to being on his own, depending solely on himself, from his early years in the mines to running his and Vander’s smuggling operations to plotting a revolution. He never needed anyone until Vander.
Silco couldn’t understand his feelings for the longest time. Women attracted him, sure, but there was something about men that he couldn’t define. Vander was everything he wanted to be: strong, respected, and admired. They had known each other since their teens, and it was always the same brotherly affection men would have for their friends―giving their brothers playful embraces and the like. Silco couldn’t help but want to touch him more as the years went by—desires he could no longer deny and harder to conceal.
The day Vander caught him staring at his friend and co-conspirator in a not-so-brotherly way, Silco thought for sure Vander would beat the hell out of him or kick him out of their boys' club, the Sons of Zaun, so it became known. Back then, even in the Underground, gay men were not looked highly upon. They were there but kept their desires hidden unless they worked for the brothels, where men who scoffed at what they perceived as sexual deviancy would indulge in the very same vice. A man like Vander surely would be straight as an arrow with a legion of women queued up to his bedroom.
As if it were yesterday, Silco could remember every detail. They had a row about a plot gone wrong. It was the early days when they first took The Last Drop and the beginnings of their smuggling efforts.
The pub was empty after Benzo stormed out as Silco cleaned up a nasty cut on his chest. He sighed, not at a new, fresh wound to add to his collection, but another shirt ruined beyond repair. He was getting used to the finer fabrics from Ionia they knicked, but those raids were few along with good tobacco and spirits.
“He bungled it, and you know it, Vander,” Silco spit out, wincing when he added vodka to the cut.
“I’ve known Benzo since we were kids. I trust him with my life,” Vander growled as he paced.
“If you want to trust him, fine. I’m not going to die because he fucked up. I’ve got better things to do than get shot by Enforcers.”
“Ah, is the revolution keeping you from your nocturnal activities? I’m sure the little sluts can wait,” Vander sneered with a scowl.
Silco tossed the bloody rag on the bar. “It sounds like you need to get laid, not me.”
Vander rounded on him, shoving Silco against the wall, pinning him completely. Silco thought when Vander’s hand clasped his neck, he might strangle him. The bigger man huffed out ragged breaths, the hot air blowing back wisps of his black hair.
Only then did Vander’s eyes darken, taking in Silco’s face. That hand jerked his chin up, and before Silco could fight back, a hot mouth crushed his. His eyes bulged, and his body stilled. Vander was kissing him! His evening shadow was rough and burned Silco’s lips as that raw, masculine kiss deepened.
Kissing him right now, Vander was jealous of his casual affairs with women and Silco couldn’t wrap his brain around it. Silco had never intimately touched, let alone kissed another man. It was something left in the dark recesses of his fantasies. With his female one-night stands, he had often imagined his brother instead―taking him in ways women weren’t used to and didn’t always find pleasurable.
A moan escaped, deep in Silco’s throat, as Vander took advantage and plundered his mouth. It was better than he imagined. Vander’s massive hand slid up the back of Silco’s neck, grabbing the hair at his nape and yanking his head back. Teeth nipped, and a tongue swept at his jaw and down to his bobbling Adam’s apple. The sensation went straight to his groin, feeling himself harden.
Vander crouched his hulking frame down, ghosting his hands down Silco’s waist, which was so thin in comparison. His knee wedged between his slender legs, and Silco knew he couldn’t hide his arousal. Vander pressed his thigh into Silco’s cock and hummed, feeling how hard he was. That tongue mapped along his collarbone, over scars and sparse hair, until reaching his newest wound. Silco glanced down with heavy lidded eyes as Vander lapped up his blood, the sting of his saliva across that deep cut forcing out an even more resounding groan.
No words were spoken, yet their eyes said everything. I want you.
An impatient hand unbuttoned his trousers, snaking inside and gripping him so firmly that Silco almost passed out.
“Fuck,” he grunted out.
Vander’s eyes smiled along with that lopsided grin of his. “You skinny boys always have the surprises,” he hummed, stroking Silco’s thickening cock.
Silco’s eyes rolled back. Gods, he had always wondered what this would feel like; it was everything he hoped it could be. He loved every second of it. The only thing better would be Vander’s mouth on him.
Vander’s nose nudged Silco’s neck, bringing his lips to his ears. His colossal hand worked his cock, and that deep voice whispered.
“This has to be our secret.”
Silco’s memory flashed forward to your lovely, creamy breasts bouncing lightly as you rode him. Gods, you were beautiful. Silvery curls hung down in waves as you bent down to kiss him. Those violet eyes, darkening under almost white eyelashes. Your skin would flush and prickle at his touch. His hot breath could make those fine little hairs stand on end. Or feeling you tremble at his voice.
“Ash, this has to be our secret.”
Vander made sure no one knew about their relationship. No one believed Vander could be gay, and the way Silco carried on, neither one was suspected of anything. They had to be very careful in expressing emotions and desires. Silco kept up appearances with several women, but Vander knew it was no more than pretence. Silco didn’t care about those girls, and Vander knew it. He didn’t appear to be bothered by Silco’s bisexuality, knowing he always came back home in the end.
After a time, it began to change. Vander explained that he thought people might be suspicious and started to cool things down. In business and tactics, their decisions were in tandem but in love... It was always in Vander’s control. He decided when they met and if they had sex. Sometimes, Silco felt more like a hobby his brother dabbled in than a partner.
A couple of years later, Vander took more control of the Underground, and Silco became more or less his general. They were working for the same Cause, so he tried to tell himself it wasn’t a big deal, but something kept nagging at his gut. They were seeing less of each other intimately, if at all. Then, one day, it stopped altogether.
Silco ran the smuggling, built plans, and occasionally, he would get a kiss in a dark hallway or the cellar for all his hard work. Vander said things would return to normal once the battle was over, and they could be public, but not now. Silco hated that Benzo knew of their relationship. He swore to Vander that he would keep it a secret, but the man always managed to find a way to use it against Silco—whether it was a harmless joke or trying to win Vander back to his side.
Silco thought Benzo never had the stomach to do what needed to be done. He fought, yes, but he was always the one to pull Vander back when the scope of their plans broadened. Benzo was too narrow-minded, and Silco hated that he could talk Vander down on numerous occasions. It wasn’t just the Lanes anymore. It had to be the independence of the entire Underground. Silco would settle for nothing less.
“Vander,” Benzo huffed, tossing back a dram. “You’re not seriously considering this, are ye? He’s talkin’ about a war. We have the Lanes now; what else do we need?”
Silco sighed at the man’s lack of vision as he rolled a cigarette.
“We don’t have control. As long as Enforcers can still come down here, they have power over us. A free Underground is the only way.”
“And what we be fight’n with?” he sneered, getting more irritated by the moment. “Pick axes and hammers against rifles? Or do ye expect Vander to take them all down with his gauntlets?”
“I’m working on it,” SIlco hummed, lighting the fresh tobacco they stole today. “We’re smugglers, aren’t we? If I can’t get weapons, I’ll get the materials to build them.”
“Under Topsider’s noses? You’re mad,” Benzo goaded. “Vander, your little side piece is getting too big for his britches…”
Silco snorted, leaning against the bar, not letting the petty insult ruffle his feathers.
“At least I’m not a coward,” Silco retorted smoothly, perfecting another ring of smoke, watching it linger before Benzo rounded on him, knocking a rickety chair over.
“Say that to my face!”
SIlco rose to full height, still several inches shorter than Benzo and Vander. Without breaking eye contact, Silco smirked.
“Coward.”
That massive arm threw a punch, but Silco ducked quickly, flicking his cigarette at Benzo’s face.
“Silco, that’s enough,” Vander scolded.
“What? I didn’t start this. If he can’t handle the truth…”
“Enough.”
With a scowl, Silco shrugged. Benzo was too easy to goad these days.
“By all means,” Silco bowed gracefully to his commanding officer, in contrast to his anger. “I’ll be the better man since Benny needs your protection…”
“Why, you little…”
“Benzo, no!”
His large hand gripped Silco’s shoulder, whipping him around. Benzo took a fist of Silco’s jacket, shoving him against the jagged wood of the bar. Suddenly, the man stilled, his eyes wide, not from Vander’s hand pulling him back but the blade Silco brandished between them.
He wasn’t going to stab him. It was a warning. Men like Benzo relied too much on their hulking size as strength. Men like Silco learned to be quick and stealthy.
“One of these days, Benzo, you’ll wish you walked away,” Silco seethed, withdrawing the blade after catching Vander’s furious eyes.
Silco tucked the blade back into its hiding place before raising his hands in mock respite.
Vander marched off in a fury, demanding Silco follow him. Adjusting his clothing, Silco leaned over to Benzo, whispering in low tones.
“Brothers or not,” he hissed. “Touch me again, and I won’t be responsible for my actions, Vander be damned. Do we understand one another?”
Silco leaned back into his office chair. Benzo was more Vander’s friend than his, even in the beginning. You, his little Ash, were right. Benzo didn’t like that Vander listened to him more, that he, the side-piece, was more influential than boyhood friends.
The day Benzo died, Silco felt nothing. It was a long time coming.
You never did know when to walk away.
The door opened again, and Silco was about to reprimand whoever had interrupted his solitude when a little sniffle brought him back to the present.
Jinx had been crying, Silco noted as she shuffled into the room. Without a thought, he moved to the sofa, padding the cushion for her to come sit with him and setting your photo on the coffee table.
“What’s wrong, Blue?”
It was an endearment Silco hadn’t planned on. After Vander’s death and her sister’s abandonment, he wasn’t sure if this child would survive long and didn’t want any more attachments. Using her given name wasn’t to her liking. But calling her Jinx meant she was a permanent part of his life now.
Once, Silco caught himself almost calling Jinx 'grease monkey' and had to hold himself in check. Jinx reminded him of you sometimes when she was building her gadgets or he had to curb her lousy language when she would curse at Sevika or when an invention didn't work the way she wanted.
Oddly, Blue became a term he used one time when she was upset, only to make her smile, and it stuck. Silco only used it in those moments when she was distraught or in tears.
“I had a bad dream again,” Jinx sniffed, her hair a mess of stringy curls from her braid.
“The accident?” he asked tenderly.
Silco refrained from mentioning Vander or Vi, knowing how it hurt her… knowing she was the reason Vander died that fateful night. Jinx blurted it out once in a fit, and Silco had to piece it all together afterwards. It was a bomb she made that blew the place to hell, destroying all that Shimmer and injuring Sevika and Singed, as well as most of his crew.
The fact that Silco took this child in was still a sore spot for many. He could have let the child fend for herself as he did when he was her age, but Silco couldn’t let her go. He saw himself and someone else in her. Someone he wanted to nurture and protect. Someone who believed in him, like you used to.
“She hit me,” Jinx sobbed, wrapping her tiny arms around him in a vice grip. “I mess everything up…”
Silco leaned back against the cushions, taking the girl with him, running his fingers through her hair in a comforting motion.
Crack!
Silco’s ears rang with the sound as if it happened yesterday.
He felt the sting on his palm before Silco realized he had not only slapped you but in front of everyone. Your head whipped back from the force, and the look of absolute betrayal in your eyes gutted him. Never had he ever struck you or conceived of harming you in any way. He wouldn’t have hesitated to kill any man that might hurt you. Now, everything changed.
It was everything—Vander’s trust and friendship, Sevika’s brutal revelation, your harsh words of treason, and unrequited love. His hand flew before he could even think properly. Silco had always ridiculed Benzo for acting on his emotions, but everything spun out of control at that moment, and he couldn’t breathe, let alone hold back his fury.
“You bastard,” you cried, holding a shaking hand to your bright red cheek.
For only half a moment, Silco thought about taking it back, consoling the girl he used to know, but the people watching this dizzying theatre unfold held his feet to the floor.
Your last words spoken, Silco thought, were in mindless anger, meant to hurt him, but they haunted him ever since in a reflected foreshadowing.
You’re going to rot in Stillwater, Silco. And I will hate you until my dying breath.
Feeling his lungs constrict from the lack of air as Vander held him underwater, the ultimate betrayal, Silco held Jinx as he did in front of Vander’s dead body, surrounded by flames.
“Shhh, Blue,” he crooned softly. “It’s alright.”
Silco rested his chin atop her little head as she snuggled into him. He was used to it now. Soon, she would fall asleep, and he would let her rest on the sofa with a blanket or carry her to her little room close to his. The cellar had terrible memories of the other kids and her sister, so Silco used it only for storage. In a way, he could lock your memories down there, too.
“Who is that?” Jinx's tired voice asked.
Silco's eyes followed her hand as it reached out to grasp the photo on the table. She was an observant and inquisitive little thing, always asking questions—like…
“Someone I used to know,” Silco answered without thinking.
“Is she our enemy?”
Jinx began speaking in terms of we, us, and our for the past few months and Silco couldn’t help but smile at that. She trusted him now in every respect.
Trust … such a small word for the biggest gamble a person could take with another.
Silco took the photo of you from Jinx’s small fingers and studied your face: older and more complicated but still lovely. He wondered if your eyes were still violet from those rusty sepia tones in the picture.
Revenge is a dish best served cold.
“I don’t know, Blue,” he sighed. "I don't know."