Chapter Text
December 10th, 1999
The twilight years of the millennium. Fifty years since his Embrace. Despite every action of his speaking to the contrary, Nines Rodriguez never thought he’d ever see such an anniversary.
He fought nevertheless, even when he wasn’t sure he’d live to the next sunrise. The year previous saw California under siege by the Kuei-Jin, and after scores of friends, comrades, and devotees were lost they had an uneasy truce. Truce, not victory. Only bought time, an empty reassurance. He knew better than most that the ensuing calm was something to dread, often a prelude to an approaching storm.
There might have been a storm approaching, but he wasn’t about to run his people ragged in the brief moments of calm. Two years of constant war and the deaths of countless friends frayed the nerves of even Kindred. Making it to the dawn of the second millennium left him feeling empty - what made him so different? Kindred he’d known since his Embrace were now ashes, and ashes were all he could taste.
Los Angeles’ newfound nights of calm were likely to be their last reprieve for a while - if they were lucky the peace would last until the New Year. One night of rest to feed and grant fresh eyes to their situation wasn’t about to kill anyone - he saw his fellow survivors looking hollow behind the eyes, embodying a second death. They’d all seen so much - too much. Everyone held their grief in their own way, an emotion that even death couldn’t erase - some turned to anger, others withdrew. Some, like him, let their grief fuel them and ignite a fire that would drive them forward - but after so long they were falling apart. Rest was best for the cause. Nines had to hold himself to the same standards he held the numerous Anarchs following his lead - and as much discomfort as his new position of leader gave him (so many others, now ash, were so much better for the job) he knew he had to lead by example.
So he found himself in his haven, lying still while the moon still shone for the first time in what must have been years.
Stasis wasn’t a welcome thing. As he grew older - as the years under his curse dragged on - Nines began to feel if he stopped moving he’d never start again. Torpor, the call of the ages, was still a century or more away from truly calling him, but he felt its presence nevertheless. It was only the occasional murmur at the back of his mind in moments of silence, reminder enough that he couldn’t afford to pause for too long. He’d fought too hard for his present reality to fall into slumber and have it slip through his fingers.
He distracted himself listening to the gentle bustle of life in the condominium complex home to his current haven - a basement suite, unappealing to mortals for all the reasons it suited his purposes. Some might have called him sentimental for settling in East LA, but after the hell of war he appreciated the echoes of home long forgotten. Humanity was a complicated subject in his mind - he had his own people to look after, the reality of his unlife. Yet part of that reality was pain, self-hatred from the rare but necessary dips into cruelty. He was a monster, and after two years of war he could hardly bear it. In East LA, he could remember being human, remember that the very things he saw and felt in life had made him the man he now was. To witness, if not belong. The complex’s thin walls had him bearing an audience to muffled conversations in a multitude of languages, baby’s cries in the early hours, telenovelas and late night radio. Life and blood, a world separate but parallel. It was a comfortable buzz that drowned out the worries in the back of his mind.
As the hours dragged on and all but the insomniacs turned in for the night, the white noise died down and was replaced by a current of anxiety. The air seemed to thicken, as if the humidity suddenly rose. He swore he could feel the water droplets in the air vibrating. Nines never put much stock in talk of auras, but he knew instinct and his gut feelings intimately. A threshold of change approached - whether an enemy or bad news - and he wanted to do all he could to hold to the last moments before the world erupted around him as it had so many times. He glanced to the phone on the coffee table, expecting it to ring and a voice to tell him another haven had been burned. All he received was silence. Uncertainty, and dread. The tension in the air intensified with every passing minute, and grew enough that he was forced to sit up. He leaned forward, hand ghosting over the grip of his Colt in anticipation.
The tension snapped as his fingertips brushed his leather holster. There was a clamour of hurried footsteps coming from the stairwell, and the faint sound of a man shouting far above. It wasn’t a familiar voice, and he couldn’t make out specific words - but it was English, from the cadence of it. Nines stood with his pistol in hand and crossed the room to his front door, latched and locked for the kine’s sake more than his. He flattened himself against the wall next to the door, ready to shoot if anyone was stupid enough to kick the door in, and listened.
Footsteps rang down the hall - only one person, lightweight by the sounds of each footfall. Then panicked pounding on the door across from his, the first visible from the stairwell. Contrasted against the quiet of only a few minutes ago, each blow against the wood thundered.
“Help, help-” It was a woman, out of breath and terrified out of her mind. Her voice was clear despite its quiver. “- please, let me in, just for a moment, please, Jesus fuck, please help, I can pay, please let me hide-”
Nines could hear her heartbeat from where he stood. Relief washed over him - human. His grip on his pistol relaxed only briefly. The man’s shouting from above now echoed down the stairwell, words now terribly clear.
“DON’T RUN FROM ME!” The fury in the man’s voice was palpable even several stories down. His footsteps were heavier than hers but had a strangeness to the pattern that suggested he was stumbling. The woman let out a choked whimper - the apartment across from Nines was vacant, and she must have realized it for soon she turned to hammer at the door of his haven.
“Please, God, I made it this far-”
It was an unspoken rule to leave humans to their own fate - the world was cruel and life was short. The involvement of Kindred in the affairs of mortals tended to make their world crueller and life shorter. Humans paid no mind to the lives of the animals they ate - why should Kindred be any different? Let alone the danger he could be inviting onto his own doorstep by interceding - hunters were no strangers to theatrics when necessary.
Yet he was where he was because of an attachment to humanity. If he didn’t care, he’d be crashing somewhere quieter, where his moments of peace weren’t interrupted by crying babies, laughing children, and grainy telenovelas. Fear and caution were flimsy excuses - he didn’t deserve the respect he’d been afforded if he couldn’t deal with a human or two, hunters or not. More than anything, he’d seen so much go wrong in the past two years that he was spoiling for something to go right. No matter how small.
He shifted from his position on the wall, reaching out to unlock his door. The latch had only barely clicked when it flew open and a woman a full foot shorter than him dashed in. A duffel bag slung over her shoulder swung with her as she closed the door as quickly as she’d opened it, locking it with prejudice. She wore an oversized black hoodie over a loose dress, feet laced into worn white sneakers. Her hair was dark and cropped into a bob a couple inches above her shoulders. Her face was plain, skin pale and sickly - she had a split lip that had scabbed over, but reopened amidst the excitement.
The scent of blood reached his nostrils - he saw the flush on her cheeks, heard her heartbeat clearly. Even with his thirst sated and decades of practiced control behind him, killer instinct fluttered to the forefront. Nines silenced it while the woman took stock of her new surroundings - his apartment.
It was bare, water stains present on the ceiling and the carpet outdated. His furnishings were utilitarian - a grainy television set to keep track of the news, a yellowing computer one of the younger Anarchs (sent to his final death in a clash with the Kuei-Jin) had insisted on setting up for him. The couch was his sole luxury, comfortable and where he waited out the daylight but always within arm’s reach of the telephone. The suite’s sole window was boarded up against the sunlight - excusable enough for humans, given there were no bars on the window and Los Angeles’ break-ins were only on the rise. He kept a few empty pizza boxes on the kitchen counters for appearance’s sake, the fridge home to a couple of blood packs hidden in the crisper drawer. Nines’ haven was a far cry from a penthouse, but the woman looked at it as if it offered a view of Central Park.
Her relief was cut short by a guttural cry echoing down the stairwell - only a floor above, by Nines’ reckoning. At last she took notice of him - only a quick glance with wide eyes, hardly daring to look. She held a finger to her lips though she needn’t have bothered - Nines was silent as the grave. The woman scarcely dared to breathe - he could see the whites of her eyes as she stared at the floor, as if looking at anything would alert her pursuer. It was the man’s turn to begin pounding on doors - a floor above, he noted, feeling the vibrations through the wall. It wasn’t long before other annoyed shouts joined the fray. Nines glanced at the clock. 3 AM. Bad time for a domestic.
“Don’t let her lie to you-” The man had begun to say, but he was cut off by a string of furious Spanish from one of the neighbors.
“Someone’s going to call the cops.” Nines spoke first, the yelling from above loud enough to drown out any conversation between them to unwanted listeners.
The woman’s heartbeat spiked with fear. “He’s got friends on the force.” she breathed. It was then that the woman’s eyes (hazel, he noted) darted down to his right hand - and the pistol he held. There was the slightest wrinkle in her brow, but her voice remained steady. Any fear seemed to have melted into grim determination. “I can’t stay here.”
“No, you can’t.” he agreed. “You got a car? Buses stopped running an hour ago.”
She shook her head.
“... what exactly did you plan on doing?”
“I didn’t plan on him waking up.” she hissed, though her expression was a miserable one. “Pills must have expired, or something - he was supposed to sleep for a while. Thought I’d steal a bike, maybe.” He raised his brows at how candid she was. “Walk until I couldn’t anymore. Anything’s better than…”
The woman fell silent, looking away from him again. As she twisted her collar moved, exposing fresh bruising along her neck in a shape he knew all too well. Fingerprints.
Distant sirens started - one of many likely echoing into the night across the city. Never ending.
Nines didn’t ask her to elaborate. “You have any money?”
She drew her duffel bag closer to her body and clutched it protectively. “Twenty bucks.” He caught the glint of a wedding ring on her finger, and she noted his shifting gaze. “Plus the ring. Look, if you want it I’ll give you everything no problem if you get me out of here first.”
The shouting above grew louder as the sirens did. The front door would be a no-go.
“Not going to rob you, kid.” He replied, somewhat amused by how she frowned at the term. She looked like she was in her early 20s - then again, he didn’t look much older. Maybe she was right to be annoyed. Any amusement died as he considered their options. Her options, he corrected himself. Safe harbors were rarer than he’d like. Nines was starting to become the LA Anarchs’ new poster boy - walking around with a human in tow would raise attention and put her in worse danger than she’d ever be in the hands of the shouting man upstairs. There was one place he knew where humans could venture that he knew beyond a doubt was safe, but he’d never hear the end of it. “What’s your name?”
She was looking at him warily, the hand that wasn’t clutching her duffle bag slipping into the pocket of her hoodie. Nines noted another shape within - a knife, maybe - and strangely enough felt relieved. It meant she might have a fighting chance. He dismissed any possibility of her being a hunter - she didn’t have the telltale scent of incense about her and she seemed quite content to take the Lord’s name in vain. “Mary.” she answered. “Yours?”
“Mary, huh? Old fashioned. Call me Nines.” he replied, unable to keep from smirking. “I’ve got a plan.”
“Yeah, my parents were the fundie type.” Mary replied flatly. He wondered what they’d make of her seeking refuge from someone like him - but figured that if she was in the situation she was they didn’t have much care for what became of her to begin with. “What’s the plan?” She spoke as if numb, voice lacking any tone. In shock, maybe - he wondered if he’d forgotten how fragile humans could be, but realized it was the same state he’d been dwelling in for the past several months. Survival being paramount over everything, unable to show any weakness or emotion. The shouting upstairs was drowned out as the sirens drew close, cop cars likely pulling up to the front of the complex. When the noise cut out Mary’s fear returned in force, tongue stilled and eyes wide once more.
It was in their best interest that her fear was kept at a minimum. Her racing heartbeat was a liability where they were going.
Nines approached the basement window and pulled the boards from it with ease. Mary jumped at the noise, but he waved her over. “Come here. I’ll give you a boost. Open it and crawl through - screen’s been gone for ages.”
Any distrust on her part was set aside, the need for haste overriding it. She approached, and Nines lifted her with ease. Beneath her baggy clothing was a small and bony frame - her knee stabbed into his chest as she straightened to a standing position, leaning against the wall.
“Christ, you’re strong.” she grunted, the window sticking somewhat as she got it open. Mary tossed her duffle bag outside before wriggling through. Nines followed her, ignoring her observation. If only she knew. He tugged the window shut behind them. He’d be staying elsewhere for the night, it seemed.
They’d crawled out to the parking lot behind the complex. The cracked pavement was illuminated by the dim orange glow of a single street lamp. Thankfully the surrounding darkness was still pitch - the night was at its peak. His life had become defined by hours until sunrise.
Nines crossed the parking lot wordlessly, Mary following silently behind. Now that they were outdoors she was remarkably quiet - were he human he might have forgotten she was present, so light were her footsteps. She gasped a little when he stopped next to a motorcycle and fished a helmet out from a nearby bush.
“Catch.” he tossed it to her, and she removed her hands from her pockets at last to grab it.
“You’re not going to wear-”
“I only have one.” he cut her off. “And you’ll need it more than I will.” Though if they crashed, she’d better hope she lost consciousness. His body could handle a collision, but he’d be a nasty sight - the worries of the Masquerade and all it entailed aside. Nines slung his leg over the bike and nudged the kickstand back with his heel. He watched her buckle on the helmet then take her seat behind him.
“I’ve never ridden one of these before.” Mary confessed.
“Hold on. I plan on peeling out of here fast.” The second the motor roared to life they’d draw attention, and the sooner they were out of range the more likely it was they’d go ignored.
Hesitantly Mary wrapped her arms around his waist. He could feel the warmth radiating from her arms even through the layers of clothing. Far away memories of the sun at his back came to mind feeling her behind him. Had it been so long since he’d made contact with the living, that warmth was so foreign? It made part of him ache, the memories of long lost faces shifting in his mind.
The beat of her heart was drowned out when he started the motor. Nines sped out of the parking lot and into the back alley, eager to escape both the mess behind them and his own thoughts. He turned onto a paved street and caught sight of flashing red and blue lights in his mirrors, fading into the distance. He smiled.
Mary’s grip on him tightened when they exited onto the Santa Ana freeway and the bike’s motor revved with the acceleration, wind whipping at them both. He was stone, immovable - but all too aware of just how fragile she was. Nines kept his eye on the speedometer - the last thing they needed was to get pulled over, and while he was confident he’d succeed in a chase she lacked his experience and reflexes if he had to do some tight maneuvering.
For the first mile her body was tense and her grip strong - he caught sight of her glancing nervously behind them several times. After the second mile, it wasn’t long before her grip on him relaxed. The warmth at his back faded, her body leaning away from his and head turning to observe the barrios they passed. They were bathed in yellow light, occasionally shadowed by an overpass, and in the night sky the odd star outshone the city’s light pollution. In the distance the spires from downtown rose glittering with light - their destination.
An odd sound came from her, and he glanced back to see that Mary was laughing. A tear track shone in the passing streetlights, and Nines hastily turned his attention back to the road.
“You’re having a lot of fun for us going the speed limit.” he observed, half shouting over the wind.
“The last time I left the apartment was six months ago.” Mary shouted back, and he could hear her smile in her tone. “I haven’t left the neighborhood since I came here.” Her voice cracked. “It’s beautiful.”
“Don’t thank me yet.” Nines replied, but her smile was contagious. Los Angeles was his home - this part of California was in his blood as much as the curse of the ages. Seeing it through new eyes brought something back, and for a moment he understood the Toreador fascination with the living. This little human had managed her escape, was skilled enough to hide - Nines was sure that if he wasn’t there she’d have happily walked until her feet bled. While he only made matters more convenient for her, at least it’d gone right. He couldn’t remember the last time things had.
Signs flew by, the exit to the bulk of downtown ignored. He exited the freeway onto a darker street, looping back along beneath it. Their surroundings here were dark, his speed slowed. The concrete pillars of the freeway loomed beside them like silent statues. Mary had a hand in her pocket again, and he could feel her body stiffen. She was right to be afraid, even if she had no idea as to the true reason to fear.
Their destination slid into view as they rounded a corner - a run down brick building at the end of the street where pavement turned to gravel, peeking out from below the freeway. Attached to it was a four story building host to a handful of run down apartments, owned by no one and home to many. Nines pulled up in front of them and cut the engine.
“The Last Round?” Mary read the sign of the smaller building as she unbuckled her helmet, offering it back to him.
“It’s a dive.” he warned, tossing the helmet haphazardly at the base of the bike before dismounting. “But you’ll be safe. A friend owns the place.” Nines jerked his head toward the taller building. “I’m going to see if there’s room for you to crash for a bit.”
Mary’s eyes were wide, but she asked no questions about who his ‘friend’ was. Smart. “Should I stay out here?”
It was tempting. The area was relatively harmless - the local homeless kept to themselves and wouldn’t hurt her even if they didn’t, her greatest danger would be a particularly thirsty Anarch. It was still a risk he wasn’t willing to take - the girl had suffered enough without losing a pint or three of blood. To tell the truth, he wasn’t sure if she’d even survive it. Mary was his problem now, and he was intent on making sure she escaped her brush with Kindred society alive and blissfully ignorant. The simple bliss on her face when they rode down the freeway was something he felt a strong urge to preserve. There was enough darkness in the world.
“No.” he answered. “They won’t mind.”
Mary nodded, clutching the straps of her duffel bag as they entered.
The music was always a slap in the face - metal blaring just loud enough to cover any shouting from upstairs, keeping the human clientele downstairs blissfully ignorant. At such a late hour there were only two regular bar flies slouched in their stools, well on their way to drunk enough to forget their own name. The place smelled like sweat, blood, and cigarettes - fitting for the unofficial Anarch command center.
Mary’s nose wrinkled a little, discomfort from the music volume clear by the tightness in her jaw, but she didn’t complain. The bartender barely glanced up from wiping down the counter to observe the two of them, but there was another presence who’d taken keen interest.
Skelter stood in the storage room doorway, stopped in his tracks. His eyes glowed dimly in the smoky gloom - imperceptible to mortal eyes - and narrowed as he took stock of Mary.
“Have a seat in one of the booths.” Nines gestured, and the girl hastily slipped into the least battered booth available. “There’s food and drink if you want.” He wasn’t sure if it was good food, but stale pretzels wouldn’t kill her. “It’s on me.” Judging by her unease, even she could tell that Skelter was not pleased. Nines was assured she wasn’t likely to get into any trouble and approached the former veteran anticipating a few choice words.
“You know how I feel about ghouls.” Skelter spoke lowly, shifting his attention away from Mary. “I thought you weren’t about that bullshit.”
“That hasn’t changed.” Nines replied just as quietly. Ghouls were useful, he couldn’t deny that - but having someone enthralled and attached to him by blood rather than their own free will was something he couldn’t stomach. “I helped her out of a bad situation.”
“Hell of a way to spend a night off.” It was enough to cut down on Skelter’s annoyance, though his skepticism was still clear. His gaze nearly burned, eyes narrowed as if he could ferret out a lie by sight alone. “Can’t blame you for picking up a charity case, I guess. I sorted the whole damn stockroom just for something to do.”
“Do we have any rooms open next door?” Nines pretended not to notice the return of Skelter’s scowl - humans made matters more complicated than they needed to be, and Skelter was a man of efficiency. “I’d like to let her stay while she figures out something long term.”
Coming from anyone else, such a show of altruism in regard to humanity might have drawn a mocking remark from Skelter. Years of war against the Kuei-Jin had proved Nines’ humanitarian streak was no detriment to his strength, however, and had built up enough respect to let his occasional charity pass by uncontested.
“You’ll have to ask Damsel.” Skelter shrugged. “You better hope she doesn’t end up a deadbeat. If our people need the space she’ll be tossed out on her ass.” He studied Mary over Nines’ shoulder - she’d approached the bar. “If she sees anything you’ll have to ghoul her, you know. Or-”
“I know.” Nines’ answer was quick. Kill her, Skelter was about to say. The unfortunate reality of dealing with a world that could never know theirs. He didn’t need reminding. “Damsel upstairs?”
“Yeah. She spent the night giving a couple of rookies hell, so if you’re lucky she’s tired herself out.”
“Not likely.” The two men smirked at each other before Nines climbed the stairs.
When the Kuei-Jin first arrived on California’s shores, Damsel seemed like any other young Anarch - angry, idealistic, and without focus. In the years that followed she proved she had a knack for more than cracking heads - she had an eye for detail and a talent for rabble rousing that made her more than worth her frequent tirades. He found her hunched over one of the tables upstairs, chin resting in her palm. A police scanner sat on the table, crackling indistinctly. She lifted a brow when Nines came into view. “Thought you had the night off.”
“Thought you did too.” Nines tilted his head toward the scanner.
“This?” Damsel shrugged. “That’s entertainment.” There was a trace of exhaustion in her tone, and she asked her next question as if she dreaded the answer. “Did something happen?”
“Nothing bad.” He began, heading off any worries that his arrival might have implied. As den mother Damsel had probably seen the brunt of the most recent raw horror. “A woman in my complex decided to leave her husband. I’m helping her run.” The truth wasn’t something that would bother her - Nines was well aware that he’d have to fuck up catastrophically to turn the Last Round’s den mother against him. For all of her fury she had a heart that bled more than most - she was young enough to still remember what it was to have one. “I was wondering if we could set her up next door until we find her a spot in a shelter.”
Damsel visibly relaxed, shoulders slumping back down to their previous tired posture. “Jeez. You came all the way over here for a human?” Worry was replaced with confusion, but she didn’t argue the point. “Good thing you did, though. Good luck finding a shelter that’s open.” Damsel lifted her head from her palm, gaze growing steely. “They’ve been full for months since they cut funding, and that’s with reducing stay times.” There was a heat in her tone that suggested she could go on at great length regarding the state of human affairs - it was her job to keep up with them, sparing the rest from their minutiae - but she knew he was waiting for an answer. “Yeah, we have room. Not anyone crashing besides us regulars now that the truce is on. Everyone else cleared out when you gave us the night off.”
“Guess she’s staying until we can get her a job.” Nines couldn’t help but feel a pang of anxiety at the concept - he had no idea what Mary’s skill set was or if she’d even be able to provide for herself. It was a branch of aid he hadn’t expected to travel down, and one that’d take much more time than he’d anticipated.
Damsel seemed moderately amused. “Skelter might give you shit, but you know what you’re doing. Every little bit helps, right? But if we need the rooms I’m kicking her out. I’ve got to take care of our people.”
Always sweet, in her brusque way. “Fair.”
“The loft should keep her out of our hair. I’ll let the guys know the deal for you. You’ve gotta feed her, though.”
“She’s not a pet.”
For once, Damsel had the grace to say nothing - though her smile was smug enough. Nines pretended not to notice and returned to the stairs, leaving her to the police scanner.
Mary was sitting back in her booth when he returned, a bottle of beer clasped in her hands. Her knuckles were white as she gripped it, and while her eyes seemed firmly fixed on the waxy tabletop she dared a few glances at her surroundings. The exit sign at the back of the bar and the front door occupied her attention the most, and Nines was reminded that in his world she was prey.
She didn’t flinch when he sat across from her in the booth, though. The tendons in her hand flexed, and slowly she released her beer bottle. The contents were drained and the label had been picked at. Nines frowned - he’d only been gone a few minutes, but he supposed if anyone needed a stiff drink it was her.
“We’ve got room.” he began. “The loft next door’s not occupied - nicest room in the place. Kitchen and bathroom on the main level, bed up the stairs. There’s a phone too - I don’t know how up to date the phone book there is but I can track down a new one if you need it. Or one for another city, if there’s people you know.”
Mary lifted her eyes to meet his and shook her head.
Nines swallowed, trying to ignore the fact that he could feel Skelter staring at him. He leaned forward in his seat, the edge of the table pressing into his ribs. “Hey, look.” Closer to her, he didn’t have to raise his voice to be heard over the music. “You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to. I can drop you off somewhere if you want, or you can walk out. There’s hotels nearby, probably a pawn shop.” He gestured at her ring.
Her eyes roamed around the bar, studying it with newfound bravery. He could see her chewing the inside of her cheek. Nines didn’t envy her - she had nothing but uncertainty ahead and had no reason to trust him. There was no way he could convince her he meant her no harm - and if something went wrong, saying she wouldn’t be hurt was a lie.
“Can I ask a question?”
It wasn’t the answer he was expecting. Nines nodded.
“Why?”
He clasped his hands together on the table. “LA’s gone to shit lately.” The Final Nights, the more superstitious of Kindred were calling them - but from what he knew the end of the world had been proclaimed for decades. Things kept getting worse, misery and strife surpassing what most could remember - but they never came to an end. “I’ve seen a lot of people in bad situations in my life. Couldn’t do shit about it. I figure now that I’ve got the resources to actually do something this time I should put them to use.”
Mary didn’t look entirely convinced.
“That, and-” he added. “- a woman named Mary seeking shelter at my doorstep? I figure that’s a sign. Don’t want to risk any trouble from a higher power if you’re forced to sleep in a stable when I could have helped.”
It drew a smile from her, and a little warmth bloomed within him. “Didn’t expect someone to refer back to the Bible in this place. Uh. No offense.” For the first time her tone seemed natural, warm - he wondered if it was how she normally sounded, when not in fear for her life.
“None taken.” he returned her smile - it was contagious. “I was raised Catholic.” An irony that never left his memory. “I don’t practice anymore, though. You don’t have to worry about me hauling you to Mass in the morning. I like to sleep in.”
At that Mary yawned. “I can’t remember the last time I slept late. I’m looking forward to it.” From the dark circles under her eyes she looked like she needed it.
Nines had his answer. He hoped he hadn’t inadvertently doomed her - they just needed a week or two of peace, a week or two where she had nothing to overhear or stumble across. It was a long shot, it was greedy - but it was what was needed. “Are you ready to go?”
“Yeah.” She drew her duffel bag into her lap and scooted down to the edge of the booth. “I’ve got food in here, so you don’t have to worry about me stealing bags of pretzels from here.”
“You can if you want. I can’t guarantee they won’t be stale, though.” People didn’t come to the Last Round to eat. He cleared his throat and continued before she could contemplate what that meant. “I’ll show you to your room.”
Nines followed her out of the booth and opened the front door for her, the blinds hanging across it clattering as it swung open. He glanced back to see that Skelter had not moved from where he lurked, hidden in the gloom. Skelter held his gaze as Mary ducked under Nines’ arm and stepped into the night air. Even if he didn’t hear more about his decision later, he knew Skelter wasn’t about to forget.
All sound from within the bar was muffled as the door shut behind him, and he tried to let any misgivings on his part be silenced with it.
Mary seemed relieved, exhaling and letting her shoulders grow slack. “Christ, I could barely hear myself think in there.” She peered at his motorbike while they walked past. It didn’t escape his notice that she paid special attention to the plate number. He wondered if she was able to remember it.
“It keeps the kids out.” Nines replied, walking the short distance down the sidewalk to the small apartment building. “You get used to it after a while.”
Mary was leaning back on her heels, staring up at the top floor as they approached. “You spend a lot of time here?”
The door groaned as he pulled it open - the rust on the hinges was starting to get out of hand. It’d likely remain that way until the door fell off - the decay of his surroundings had a bad habit of echoing the wear he felt. Nines looked back at Mary, and she shrunk a little. Belatedly he realized she must have thought she’d overstepped her bounds and he made an effort to smile again. “Sometimes.”
The lack of reprisal soothed her enough for her to follow him inside. They’d entered into a thin hallway, mailboxes hanging open against the wall by the front door. Flanking the hall were two doors leading to the first floor apartments. At the end of the hall were the stairs, lit by a flickering fluorescent light. It smelled of damp, water stains evident on the once-white walls. Mary said nothing about the dingy surroundings, instead hovering behind him so she may as well have been his shadow. Her hands were stuffed into her pockets again.
“You okay?” he asked over his shoulder, and she smiled at him in return.
“I seem like I’m not?”
His mouth flattened, unimpressed by her deflection. Still, he shrugged it off and made his way toward the stairs. Mary kept some distance between them now, self conscious of her own actions. Nines didn’t know what he could do to stop it.
“There’s not really any house rules.” he began as they started their ascent, footsteps ringing against the concrete. With each landing they passed a hallway much the same as the first floor was visible, apartment doors flanking it. “A few people here work nights, but they’re heavy sleepers. Make as much noise as you want. Come and go whenever you want, buy pay-per-view, whatever. Just don’t snoop. People here are private.”
Mary was breathing heavily behind them - they’d just reached the third floor landing. “Do I look like the type to snoop?” She smirked despite being out of breath, aware that the answer was yes.
The woman was a contradiction, fear and hesitation interweaving with odd moments of brazen honesty. Nines was growing to like her. “I wouldn’t blame you.” His tone grew sober with his next words, however - slowing his pace both to help her catch her breath and to impress the seriousness of his warning. “But it’s a bad idea. Good way to get shot.” Or worse.
Her smile slid off her face, and she nodded briefly. “Look, I’m not a narc. You’ve seen why I don’t mess with cops.” The tone she used was a bargaining one, and he winced.
They’d come to the fifth floor landing. Nines paused - here there was no hallway, only a single door. The stairs went up another floor - access to the roof, but he wasn’t about to tell Mary about it until she’d had a few nights to settle. He wasn’t entirely sure of where she was at. While her fear was obvious enough, heard in her heartbeat, any other emotions ran subtler in her. Despite the intense circumstances of their meeting, they were still strangers - and he was starting to get the idea that she was used to hiding things with a smile.
“I know.” His response was belated as he turned to look her in the eye, trying to catch her off guard. She matched his gaze easily. “You strike me as the type of person who’s been on the wrong side of the tracks.”
“You could say that.”
“Then you’re aware that knowledge can be dangerous.” Let her think he was part of some criminal enterprise. “I can’t vouch for you if you look for trouble.”
“I’m not going to ruin a good thing. I won’t snoop. Promise.”
“Don’t call it a good thing until you see the place.” Nines muttered, leaning over to pull open the door on the landing. He entered first, pawing at the wall to find the light switch. Mary followed behind.
The loft was rarely used. Its windows were large and while they were covered with blackout curtains it still set Kindred on edge to only have a curtain rod keeping them from their final death. Nines succeeded in his search, track lights on the ceiling coming to life with a dull click. They illuminated the space with unflattering dim yellow light. Mary’s face looked sunken in it, the gauntness in her cheeks and hollowness of her eyes exaggerated.
“It’s big.” she murmured, footsteps light against the weathered hardwood floor. She ran her fingertips along the brick wall, peering into the kitchen tucked under the loft above. Decades ago it may have been something to brag about, but now it was decrepit. Dust coated the countertops. Any distaste she may have had for the neglected space disappeared when her gaze settled on the massive curtains on the other side of the space. She walked past the two battered couches that made up the living room and pulled a curtain aside - only marginally, their weight considerable. “Hell of a view.”
“You can say it’s a shithole.” Nines called over from near the doorway, and the scowl she shot him tugged a smirk on his lips.
“You can see across the freeway from here. I like it.” she huffed. “Can I open the curtains?”
“If you can figure out how.” he shrugged.
Mary walked back to the twisting wrought iron stairs that led to the loft. They creaked as she ascended them - he kept track of where she was by her echoing footsteps. “Is this bed queen size?” She sounded positively delighted. There was a light thud on the floor - he guessed she’d tossed her bag down at last. “I’m guessing this is the bathroom - ” A door opened. “ - the tub’s got feet?”
“It’s old fashioned.” He called in reply. Mary’s footsteps sounded quickly across the floor above, and she came into view leaning over the railing to squint at him.
“You heard that?”
Nines swallowed but kept his tone casual. “It’s a loft. Sound travels.”
“... I’ll keep that in mind.”
While she continued investigating her new quarters Nines approached the phone, sat neat on the kitchen counter. There was a pen and pad of paper next to it, and he began to scribble down numbers. “If you need anything right away, call the bar. I’ve got my own written down here too, but I can’t guarantee I won’t be busy.”
“Do you work nights too?” Mary’s voice sounded from within the small pantry.
“Lately, yeah.”
Mary withdrew from the pantry and rested her hip against one of the kitchen counters, facing him. “How long do I have?” Her hands were in her pockets again - an habit of insecurity, he was starting to realize.
“If I had my way, until you found some work and could pay for your own place. Unfortunately I don’t, so you have until our people need the place. Can’t say when. Could be a week, could be a month. Could be tomorrow.” The very concept made him wince.
“I won’t need that long. I’ll ring some shelters. They should be able to help me with the whole job thing.”
“Don’t know how much luck you’ll have there. A friend of mine said they’re full up. You should still try phoning around, just…”
“I shouldn’t get my hopes up.” Mary sighed. “Well. Things have been too neat so far, so I guess I’ll take that for an obstacle. Look - you’ve been nice, but I’m not just going to stay here and have a free ride. I got into this mess by relying on someone else. If I can’t find anywhere I’ll get out of your hair.”
“If it’s the free ride that bothers you, they could use some help next door. You’ll be paid under the table, though. Hope that’s not a deal breaker.”
“You’re not just saying that?”
“I don’t own the place. If I started making up job openings I’d be in trouble.”
Mary stared at her feet for a few moments, considering his words. “I’m not a bartender.”
“You’ve seen the clientele. You think they give a shit about fancy cocktails? If you can pour a shot or draft you’ll be set.”
“You really want me to stick around, don’t you?” Her shoulders were tensed, and he could see her eyes darting over to the door behind him.
“I think pride is a stupid reason to be homeless. It’s not a free ride. Not even a favor - if you’re bad at it you’re out of a job, and if my people need this space you’ll be kicked out. It’s just good timing. Luck. You prefer that?”
“I’d prefer none of this.” Mary suddenly exclaimed. “I’d prefer I wasn’t an idiot four years ago. I’d prefer that I never came here, and…”
“Hey.” Nines cut across her, but she was on the edge of hyperventilation. Against his better judgement he approached her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Mary.”
It shook her enough to snap her back to some sort of stability. She looked up at him miserably.
“Whatever happened wasn’t your fault. I don’t need to know the specifics for that. Everyone has their sins, doesn’t mean everyone has to suffer. If you don’t feel safe or comfortable here you can go, but don’t put yourself through hell just because you feel like you deserve it.”
Mary stared at him in stunned silence. Maybe he’d said too much, but it was necessary - he’d seen the same story play out enough times. Nines didn’t intend on seeing a repeat. He lifted his hands from her shoulders quickly and put a fair distance between them once more.
“I’m sorry.” she mumbled at last, rubbing at her temple. “I’m just… exhausted.” She was embarrassed, he realized - unhappy to have let what dwelled under the surface into the light.
They had that much in common.
“No need.” Nines waved off her apology. “Sun’ll be up soon. You should get some sleep.” He stepped backward, letting his hand rest on the doorknob.
Mary nodded weakly and took a few deep breaths to steady herself. She seemed thankful for the change of subject. “Yeah. I’ll see if I can. Got a busy day ahead of me.” She watched him open the door, but spoke again before he could leave. “Hey, uh… Nines?”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah?”
“Thanks. I appreciate it, even if it seems…” she stopped herself, exhaling a frustrated little sigh. “See you later?”
Nines put on his best smile. “I’ll try.”
After he’d shut the door behind him and started down the stairs, he heard muffled crying from behind.
It was then he knew that Damsel would have a fight on her hands if she wanted to toss the human out any time soon.