Chapter 9: Temperance

“It definitely sounds like her.” Cosimo leans against an AC unit of the Cherry Pit. The rooftop is quiet, save for the pigeons cooing and shuffling behind them. The ceaseless drone and blinding lights of Times Square remind Nick of where he is. The Cherry Pit below them has slowed in the past couple of days, something to do with supply and demand.

Liv shifts, her feet never flat for more than thirty seconds. “Is this something we have to worry about now?” she asks Cosimo.

“Naomi will not hurt you, cara,” Cosimo says, flipping a coin.

“That doesn’t fill me with confidence,” Liv says.

Nick is pacing back and forth, off to the side. The cigarette stuck to his lip bobs up and down as he speaks.

“We’re gonna need her dossier, Cos.”

“How’s that gonna help you, cousin?” Cosimo asks, genuinely curious.

If memory serves Nick well, it’s been years since he and Cosimo have had a conversation longer than five minutes. Since they met as teenagers, both Nick and Anton found Cosimo’s presence draining. He had made his deal with Ozurell at fifteen, a fact that Nick’s father always reminded his sons of.

‘“Look at what that little moron did, boys. Gave away his eyes for some cheap party trick,” Johan Rhyner would say over dinner. He would add, “This is what happens when the father is absent,” in between bites.

“Don’t worry about that, just get it for me, please.” Nick exhales.

Cosimo sucks his teeth and shakes his head, seeing Nick’s reaction to what he’s about to say. “Would that I could. As it stands right now, we need a favor, and you’re in the perfect ‘favor-doing’ position.”

Nick rubs his temples. Always something. “Out with it.” He drags on his cigarette. “What do you need?”

Cosimo smiles, eyes fixed on a new future. “There’s a guy we need gone. He was useful to Frau Perchta, so she gave him powers through a deal. But he went a little crazy, then the power turned him into something… strange.”

“Cleaning up your mess.”

Cosimo nods.

Nick rubs the bridge of his nose. “Can I know what he did?”

“He’s killed a lot of people.”

Liv’s nails pick at her cuticle. “And it’s just one guy?”

“He’s not a guy anymore, I’m pretty sure. The boss lady didn’t tell me what the deal was about, but she said she doesn’t need this kind of noise being made. Hard enough to keep a lid on everything without this clown.” Nick stares at the ground below his feet, crushing the cigarette butt.

“So you don’t know what he got out of the deal?”

“All Frau Perchta said was ‘wax’.”

“If you can see the future, why can’t you just tell us, dude?” Liv asks, worried enough about having to do a mob hit on someone. “We’re just supposed to go kill a guy for you?”

“Just make him not our problem. I don’t really care.” Cosimo answers.

“It’s fine, Liv. We’ll take care of it.” Nick begins walking away. Halfway through the door leading back inside, Cosimo stops them.

“We already hired a freelancer, so you’ll be working with him.”

“Lovely,” Nick says before leaving.

Three hours crawl by. The target’s name and image finally come through in a message from Cosimo. Jared Something-something, Nick doesn’t bother reading that. He has long blonde hair, a thin face, deep-set eyes, and an athletic build.

Nick’s van sits across from the old Charleston Hotel, the one getting demolished next month. Each passing day, it gets harder for Hell’s Kitchen to live up to its name. There was a dive bar Nick used to visit with Gartz after assignments. It is now a bookstore coffee shop.

“Why the hell would anybody go in there? Wouldn’t you rather go to a coffee shop or a bookstore? Is there even a market for this kind of stuff?” Nick scratches at his stubble.

Liv scrolls through her phone. A girl who bullied her in high school is getting married. A friend from med school is on a trip to Japan. “Alright, gramps.”

“Just doesn’t make sense.” Nick turns on the radio. He thinks of the first time Gartz and he grabbed a drink after work. Gartz made fun of Nick for not being into sports, so they made do by discussing movies. “They used to have this really nice terrace, back when it was a bar,” Nick mutters to himself.

“We are still waiting for this guy?”

“Yeah.” Nick leans back in his seat.

More time passes, along with a drizzle that makes the streets shine with streetlights. Cars passing send a light mist into the street.

Tuning in to 137 FM, Nick hears the end of a Hall & Oates song. An outro by Lexi Jacques follows, her voice like caramel through the static.

“God, you really like this woman’s station.” Liv jokes.

“What do you like to listen to then?” Nick points to the radio.

“A bit of everything.”

“Hate it when people say that.”

“Fine, a bit of rock and a bit of hip-hop.”

“So what, like Metallica?”

“I mean, sometimes. But lately it’s been a lot of IDLES, Flatbush Zombies, MF Doom.”

“You like Doom?”

“Who doesn’t?”

Nick grins like a teenager, rummaging around in his visor, then in the glove box. He inserts a disc into the drive. “You heard his 2003 stuff?”

“His King Geedorah stuff?”

Nick nods his head to the accompaniment of the beat of ‘Fazers’.

Liv nods her head with the beat. “Very underrated.”

“I know, right?” Nick and Liv both rock in their seats. “Anton got me this CD in 2003 as a birthday gift.”

Liv notices a quiver in Nick’s lip, before he steels himself once again.

They manage to get to the song ‘Monster Zero’ when Nick’s phone buzzes. Text from an unknown number. ‘You Romeo? I’m here. Thing for Sere.’

“Showtime,” Nick says.

At the foot of the enormous shell of the hotel, Nick and Liv approach a man on a corner, hands in pockets. Nick steps up to him, his hand out.

“You the freelancer?” Nick asks.

A man with a big brow and a strong jawline. Broad as a barn, imposing to even Nick. “Yeah.” The man’s clammy hand feels cold. He’s got cargo pants and a tight t-shirt under a raincoat.

“I’m Nick.”

“Cyrus Hawke.”

“I’m Liv.” Liv extends her hand.

He chuckles to himself, shaking her hand. He gives them an amused look, kneeling down and zipping open his bag. He begins assembling a submachine gun. Different sights and attachments peek through the zipper of his bag. Nick recognizes the pistol he loads and holsters under his coat, a USP tactical, reliable. A low chuckle keeps coming out from him.

“Something funny?” Nick asks.

“You guys don’t look the part.” The man replies, slicking his hair back. “You’re a little small, and the lady here —no offense, sweetheart, but you’re definitely not the type.”

“Looks can be deceiving,” Liv says.

“I suppose so. Where are your guys’ guns?” He asks them. Nick pulls back his coat, showing his Smith & Wesson Model 19. Disbelief flashes on Cyrus’ face, after which he begins to grin politely, laughing, then, upon seeing Nick’s lack of humor, quickly lets his face drop. “Ho-lee shit, you’re serious.” He says, discouraged. He shoots up, forgetting about his preparation. “We’re not playing ‘Cowboys and Indians’ here, man. I don’t want some joker with a peashooter watching my six.”

“Go home then,” Nick says.

“Whatever,” Cyrus reigns himself in and finishes setting up.

The trio walks inside the old hotel through a side entrance. The great lobby is washed out by dust. Nick and Liv put on their headlamps, lighting the way forward, causing a roll in Cyrus’ eyes, who lights the flashlight at the end of his gun.

The darkness is oppressive. Liv has to crane her neck to see the ceiling, but all she sees is long walls stretching into nothing. The vanishing point has lived up to its name. In the great forgotten lobby of the three-star hotel, light is endangered, chased to the edges of window frames and faraway corners of the space. Windows are boarded up, and scaffolding is halfway cleared out. Nick remembers hearing talk of a new location being set up uptown, past Harlem. Demolition is set for next month.

“So Cyrus…” Nick asks in the hush of the enormous reception, “You former Division?”

“No.” The man’s steps are unmeasured, sloppy, and his vision darts around carelessly. “My dad and uncle had a vampire-hunting business back in Florida. We would go in, light their den on fire, and go in and clear that nest up. Thing of beauty.”

“What happened to them?”

Cyrus says nothing for a few steps, and Nick takes the hint. When he does speak, he changes topics, “What about you? What’s your background?”

“Bit of this, bit of that. My partner here is new to the game, so we’re learning by doing.”

The three keep exploring. Nick, with Liv by his side, cleared out each room in a careful sweep. Cyrus breaks away occasionally to parts unknown. Nick teaches Liv to ‘cut the pie’ when clearing a room. Nick declares the ground floor, with the reception and restaurant, clear of any activity. Dirt-covered footprints lead them to a set of stairs.

Liv checks the floor plan behind the reception desk. “That’s the spa.” She calls out.

Down below, past the gym, which has seen only a light trail passing through it, and deeper still. The spa and swimming pool are on the third floor below ground. As they enter through the door to the spa and pass the towel cubbies and dressing rooms, the countless muddy bootprints continue deeper. The spa is untouched. The pool entrance is a small door to the right.

“Listen…” Nick instructs Liv and Cyrus. A strange bellow, like a huge machine, comes from the walls. The echo from the metal and tiles makes it hard to pinpoint.

“It’s just the pipes, Romeo. The whole place is collapsing. Let’s kill this guy and get out of here.” Cyrus pushes past Nick.

The pool area is covered in a malachite green. Tasteful tiles are now covered in grime; what’s worse is Nick and Liv’s headlamps passing down the same malachite to the tiles from the nearly empty pools and puddles. Whether it’s scum, slime, or mildew, Nick does not care. Nick cracks a glow stick and places them at the entrance and leaves a trail as they walk further. Two great pools side by side with different shapes. Liv peers inside and immediately calls Nick. Nick and Cyrus peer over the edge of one empty pool and see silhouettes of people, unmoving, frozen in frightened stances. At their feet, pools still water, thick with mud and time. Drips from the ceiling make up the only noise. Nick wonders how long these people have been here, and why.

“Wax…” Nick mutters to himself.

“Fuckin’ A,” Cyrus says.

They climb down, Nick wanting a better look at them. Some are homeless people, others are construction workers, and one delivery driver. Nick looks closer. Their skin all has a thick, waxy layer like icing. He shines his headlamp into their eyes, bloodshot and still. He checks for a pulse.

“This one is dead,” Nick whispers.

“So is this one.” Liv checks another. They go through six more, just in this pool.

“This one has a pulse.” Nick checks the seventh. “Any others?”

“One over here, a weak one.” Liv looks at one, a man in his forties. His fingers twitch as best they can under all the wax. His eye is lazy from starvation.

Liv grips his hand. “We’ll get you all out of here, I promise.”
Cyrus stands by and lets them look for living victims. The metallic bellows echo once again, this time sounding more like industrial equipment.

“We have to get them out of here,” Liv whispers. There’s probably more alive in the other pool.

“Let’s deal with the guy, and I’ll call in Anton’s men.” Nick takes one last look at the victims after climbing out of the pool, now itching to get his hands on the man who did this.

Nick’s light finds a bar, with something dark pooled in a large puddle just behind it. Nick shines a light and approaches cautiously, training his gun towards it. He signals for them to follow. His sights are trained at the puddle, which he now sees to be a thick crimson color. Liv stays five paces behind.
“Stay over there.” Nick covers his nose.

“What’s wrong?”

“Something definitely is,” Nick says, taking a photo of whatever is behind the bar, making sure the puddle doesn’t reach his boots. “I found our man. Half of him anyway…” Nick looks around for something, and Liv guesses it to be the man’s other half.

“Wait…” Liv whispers. “Which half?”

“Top half.” Nick draws a line with his finger just above his belt to demonstrate it to Liv. “His legs didn’t run away. Which means we’re in something else’s territory.” Nick goes on high alert, peering deeper into the tunnel leading to the second pool area. Stepping away from the bar, Nick stops, nearly slipping on something. He lifts his boot to notice an area of slime that starts at the entrance of the tunnel and continues into the dark. He crouches down and uses a small wooden spatula produced from a jacket pocket to examine the slime. It’s viscous, thick, and odorless.

“So the target’s dead,” Cyrus asks, in a much louder tone. He goes behind the bar and shakes his head. “Yeah…” He turns to Nick, frowning. “What’re you so jumpy for. Someone got pissed and took care of him for us. You can help those people now.”

“Something isn’t right.” Nick looks to the far left side of the room to see the struggle. Blood smears, like Jared Something-something was mauled by a bear. The top half was tossed behind the bar, if the impact mark on the wall and the dislocated shoulder are any indication.

“Cyrus, I think we need to regroup, count our ammunition, and possibly call for backup. I have a contact that can-“

“Will you shut the hell up, man?” Cyrus grimaces, gripping his SMG. His voice bounces off the tile and the ceiling. “Stop with this pansy bullshit, ducking and aiming at every little shadow. You’re clearly not cut out for this, Romeo.” Cyrus squares up to Nick, who does not listen to him, but instead hears the same metallic bellowing coming back. “I’m going to go upstairs and get in my car; you and your little girlfriend can piss around trying to find more adventure down here. I’m going to get my money.”

“Cyrus,” Nick whispers, peering over the man’s shoulder.

“Don’t try to get me involved in your bullshit ever again.”

“Cyrus,” Nick whispers in a steel tone. “Turn around. Back away slowly.”

Cyrus turns, but does not budge. Nick takes several paces back, standing next to Liv.

Approaching them from the slimy tunnel, a figure of a woman, carried by skinny feet. Too skinny, skeletal. Her knees, in the dark, look as if they’re bent backwards. The rhythm of her steps does not match her speed. Nick frowns. She moves like an expensive marionette. From her rises some sort of low wailing noise, like a cello being tuned. The metallic bellowing has stopped for now. Liv’s first instinct to help is noticed by Nick. She steps forward, but Nick pulls her back by the arm.

“Don’t worry, ma’am.” Cyrus raises his hand.

“Cyrus, back away from her.” Nick crouches down and picks up a jagged piece of tile.

Cyrus approaches her, gun cradled in his arm. Nick’s voice is beginning to annoy Cyrus. “It’s quite all right, the professionals are here. Tell us where-“ A piece of tile flies past Cyrus, missing him by inches, and hitting the woman in the head. Cyrus turns around to look at Nick, who says nothing and points at the woman. Cyrus takes a few steps back when he sees her reaction. Her head flops back completely, and a strange hissing sound comes from her entire body, like a tea kettle. Her thin limbs flop in the air. Liv looks to the side, past the woman, and sees something attached to her back, running into the darkness. A metallic bellow sounds off right in front of them, raising the hair on Nick’s neck.

A creature the size of a pickup steps out on stumpy feet. Its gaping mouth dominates its lower half; the human lure, along with its tether, disappears under its forked tongue. Littering the perimeter of its maw are rows of jagged, viscera-covered teeth, intersecting and merging into one another. Liv sees it as a giant newt or salamander, except fatter. Its bulbous front body and strong arms carry it forward. Nick and Liv both see where the slime is coming from, the mottled green skin of the creature secretes it without stop, creating a habitat wherever it goes. Its steps are heavy, its head bobs and sways, like a great burden. Its eyeless face does not react to the headlamps.

“Liv,” Nick whispers, not taking his eyes off the creature. He holsters his pistol. “When I give the signal, we run for the door. Look for the chem light.”

“OK,” Liv whispers back. They slowly step back. Cyrus stands still, glued to where he was, like he was the one covered in wax. The creature’s bellow vibrates the puddles around them. Liv feels it in her bones and skull. It sniffs the air, its head swaying side to side until it aims directly at them. The human lure deflates like a life raft and collapses, getting sucked back into the creature’s mouth by a great elastic tether. The creature’s enormous jaws flap in the air as its breath fogs up the air. Its bottom jaw is split in two, twitching like two enormous pincers.

Nick’s voice is ghostly as he calls out to Cyrus. “Dude, back away slowly. On my mark, follow us.”

The creature, seeing its trap has failed, bellows once more, exciting the air itself.

“It’s gonna outrun us; better to fight,” Cyrus whispers back. “Stay and fight, coward.”

Nick notices how the creature has not attacked yet, likely sleepy and confused from its lure being hit. The creature chitters and sniffs the blood puddle, approaching Cyrus slowly.

“Cyrus, we need to run.” Nick sees Cyrus’ hands shake, he clicks the safety off slowly and aims at the creature’s stumpy head.

“Run,” Nick says. The following second is a cacophony of gunfire. Liv’s ears ring as she follows Nick, who checks behind him constantly to make sure she’s following. Behind her, she hears Cyrus scream and the creature’s enormous body jump, its heavy breathing and crocodilian bellowing almost as loud as the gunfire. In the suffocating darkness, Liv sees a column of light bobbing up and down as Nick sprints in front of her. He stops by the door and holds it open for her. Nick’s legs burn as he sprints. He makes sure to run on an easy path that Liv can follow, avoiding any slime puddles. His running form could use some work, and his lungs feel like they grew hands and wrapped them around his windpipe.

“C’mon, c’mon.” He yells to her. They run up the stairs without looking back until they escape through the side entrance. Outside, the rain has stopped, leaving the smell of wet concrete mixed into the fresh air. Liv can feel her heartbeat in her ears. She feels like prey. Seeing the van across the street feels like salvation. Once they stop, Liv’s hands are on her knees, with her back to the van. After some ragged, sour lungfuls, she glares at the hotel side entrance to see if that thing followed them. She feels like it can be anywhere. She listens out for Cyrus’ gunshots, but if he is still alive, he’s likely too far down for her to hear.

“Liv.” Nick catches up to her, grasping his chest, feeling the years of smoking hit him all at once as he gets behind the wheel. “Get in, we’re leaving.”

Liv shoots up, staring at him through the window, still catching her breath. “Are you… kidding… me?”

“The target is dead. We held up our end of the bargain, let’s go.”

“Nick, I would, but there are people down there that asshole kept in wax.” She waits for a reaction from Nick. “Trapped with a man-eating toad, mind you.”

“I’ll get Anton to send a squad-“

“Nick, if you want, you can stay here; I’ll go myself.” The two lock eyes. Liv crosses her arms and shrugs. “If you’re too chickenshit to do it, just tell me, no shame in it.” Liv steadies a shaking in her hand, worried her bluff might not work. She’s half-sure Nick will take her up on it. But all he does is suck his teeth and look at the road.

Nick feels a wad stuck in his throat. He sees the road in front of him leading to safety, then at the hotel’s carcass, towering above them. He eyes the side entrance they just came from. He thinks of what Anton used to say. ‘If we can use the things we know to help people, then maybe that stuff Dad put us through wasn’t for nothing.’ The memory hits him fast like a derringer.

He gets out of the car.

“Pseudonaias carnivora,” Nick opens the back of the van. “A False Siren.” He looks through a box labeled “AMP”, nestled between boxes labeled “ETH” and “REP”. Nick turns back to Liv, emerging from the back with a handful of seemingly random things. “It’s an ambush predator. The lure in its mouth, the woman, works like an angler fish’s light. It can still put up a fight if that doesn’t work.” Nick holds rags, two bottles of whiskey, and two boxes of ammunition. He wipes glistening beads off his forehead, filling his ammunition satchel with moon clips. Liv has seen him do this before, clipping his bullets into these funny little shapes. He prepares six clips and loads one into his revolver. He leans back into the darkness of the van, pulling out a long metal shape. Liv sees him hold a pump shotgun, brown and black. Liv remembers her dad holding one. A Remington 870, a household name. Nick loads black and crimson shells into the tube. He places five more shells in a jacket pocket.

He licks his lips, sneaking glances back at the hotel. “That guy… Cyrus.” His breath comes out in dots and dashes.

“Yeah?” Liv asks, red in the face.

Nick pumps the shotgun and loads one more shell. “He’s definitely dead.” He slings the shotgun over his shoulder and zips up his jacket, rolling up his sleeves and putting on fingerless gloves.

Liv’s blood runs cold. She can only imagine what that thing did to Cyrus. “Geez…”

“Would’ve happened sooner or later.” Nick hands Liv a gun. “Glock-19, you point and shoot where I shoot.” He raises his revolver for demonstrations. “These polymer rounds will get rid of his slime, drying him out. You shoot any dry spots he has.” Nick lights a cigarette, and Liv frowns.

“Is this the time for that, Nick?” She asks.

“He hunts using sound and smell.” Nick takes Liv’s gun, unloading and reloading it, pressing the trigger and shaking the gun back and forth, listening for the glockenspiel, a faint metallic twinkle. Liv thinks he looks crazy, but what isn’t crazy about this moment? He hands her back the gun and two spare magazines.

“You know how to reload it?”

Liv nods her head, remembering the range with Dad.

“These shotgun shells have a special dust in them, it stinks to high heaven and causes lung inflammation. Not too bad for humans, but it confuses the creature and blinds him for a bit. I hit him with one of these in his snout, I light his midsection up, you concentrate fire after me, we relocate, rinse and repeat. We keep our distance, stay in tight formation, and don’t give it room to breathe.” Nick’s voice is surprisingly warm to Liv, like a teacher. “Breathe carefully, and don’t panic.” Nick sees Liv’s bug-eyed expression, her chest rising in shallow breaths. “Liv,” He puts a hand on her shoulder, “this is some overgrown toad. He ain’t got a thing we can’t handle. Follow my lead and listen to the sound of my voice.” He smiles and pats Liv on the shoulder. “It’ll be fun, you’ll see.”

Halfway down the basement stairs, Nick prepares the whiskey bottles, forcing starchy rags down their throats. He gives Liv his lighter. “Light the end and throw it at the creature’s feet.”

Back down in the pool, Liv grips her pistol, aiming downrange with her finger off the trigger. All she sees is Nick’s back, elbows pointed at her with his shotgun in hand. They avoid slime puddles. It’s quiet again. The only difference is the smell. Gunpowder in the air. A metallic taste sticks to Liv’s tongue, like sucking on a penny. Only halfway through the first pool room does she realize what that smell is: blood.

“Watch your step,” Nick says as they tread on a slime-covered floor and into the tunnel the creature came from. Deeper still, the darkness finds a way of getting darker. Nick recognizes death in the air. The air has a stillness to it, like the dust itself is afraid to move. From what he sees, the layout of the second room is nearly identical to the first one, except the floor is nearly covered in slime.

“Hold up.” Nick drops another glow stick. He takes another one out, lighting it and throwing it far into the room. “We’re not going in there. Not fighting on his terms.” Nick squares his shoulders, standing like an ape. “HEY!” His yell reverberates through the room, coming back to them twice in an echo. “Come out, Kermit. I got a tasty little treat for ya!” He turns his headlight on to see the big creature shining and writhing. Once it turns around, Nick and Liv see it with its mouth closed, with Cyrus’ legs dangling limply out of it, his pants cut to ribbons, and blood dripping from the tips of his boots.

“Retreat,” Nick says, pointing the gun at the creature as it slowly approaches. “Quietly,” Nick calls out to the creature once more. “I’m right here. Come on.” He makes clicking and hooting noises at it. Walking out of the tunnel and past Jared’s top half, the creature spits Cyrus out, now interested in eliminating the new threat in its nest. Once Nick’s feet touch clean tile, he lets a shot of buckshot off in the creature’s face. A plume of orange dust propagates around it. Now it’s awake. It beats its head against the floor, snarling.

“Liv, on me.” Nick fires at it with polymer bullets, and Liv follows. The fight drags on forever, and flashes by in an instant. Liv’s ears ring as she sticks close to Nick. He shouts commands like “Hit it”, “On me,”, “Hold.” Coming off their third round of blinding drilling holes into its midsection, Nick slips on a slimy puddle. The creature hears this and charges at him.

“Liv, move!” Nick screams at her. Instead, she lights the Molotov cocktail and throws it in front of the creature, getting in between Nick and the False Siren. The creature snarls and backs away, giving Nick time to find his feet. He fires the dust at the snout again and again. With the revolver, he shoots its midsection until the skin has all but dried up. The slime turns, thinning out until white flakes stitched across the creature’s flank and steam lifted. Nick instructed Liv over and over to shoot, which she did to the best of her ability. The shock of firing the handgun made her wrists ache, her ears ring, but still she did not stop. She fired and fired, slowly noticing the creature slowing down.

Nick takes out two more shells from his pocket, a different color from the other ones. These are slugs. He loads them and stands still, waiting for the creature to regain its bearings. It stumbles; movements are now lethargic from blood loss. It coughs and bellows lowly. It recognizes Nick’s smell, but instead of attacking, it turns around and limps away.

“Liv, back away,” He says to her. He aims at its hind leg and fires. The creature falls to the ground, now crawling away.

Liv looks at it, recognizing it as a living being. It did not ask to be born, nor did it ask for this hunger; it definitely didn’t try to find its way here. She looks away, only seeing Nick stand over the creature. She hears one last deafening shot. She turns back around to see Nick balancing the shotgun on his shoulder, panting and slouching over the humongous carcass. Blood pools at his boots; the smell of copper is so strong that Liv almost cannot stand it. Nick’s face is hard to place. There’s a frown on his lips, but his eyes are alight like a kid on Christmas morning.

“And that’s how it’s done.” He says morosely.

The walk back upstairs is quiet. Both of their ears ring, but Nick still takes out his blackbox to call Anton. He reports the address and approximate number of victims. He explains to Anton’s men what it was while opening the door for Liv.

Outside, all Liv can do is sit down while Nick finishes up the call.

“Whatever.” He hangs up. “You OK?” Nick looks at Liv, sitting on the curb.

“Nah, man. I’m pretty fucking far from OK…” Liv stares off into the middle distance, her eyes burning with each blink. She shakes it off and grins. “We just killed a monster together.”

Nick sits next to her, no calmer than she is. The violence of tonight buzzes just behind his face. He feels those familiar old devils dance under his skin. The thrill has returned after years. He laughs to himself.

“So I’m a chickenshit, huh?”

Liv joins in. “I was so scared you’d let me go there by myself.”

Nick gives her a nudge. “I should have.” Liv pushes him.

“Asshole.”

“It felt nice helping those people out,” Nick admits, feeling a weight lift off his chest as he does.

“Yeah, felt like it was FOR something.”

“Yeah…” Nick says.

The two sit in a comfortable silence.

Liv breaks it first, though Nick was also going to. “I thought we were gonna die.”

Nick’s voice croaks, “Nah.” He leans back, fingers on the concrete. The PNCD should be here soon. “I wouldn’t go there if I didn’t think you could handle it. You got a good handle on that gun. Might let you keep it.”

Liv pushes the inside of his elbow, causing him to fall a bit to the ground. Nick grins. “Oh, you sweet talker, you,” Liv says. “Thanks for tonight, partner. It was one of the top five worst experiences of my life.”

“Anytime.” They both look up at the sky. “Not a star in sight.”

“You were expecting something different?”

“Nope.”

Nick comes up to meet Liv at eye level. When did she start having such green eyes? Liv notices Nick’s eyes are a golden brown. “I’m proud of you, Liv,” Nick says. The concrete beneath them, the skyline hanging up above, all melt away. Tonight’s events reverberate between them. The blood and muscle singing like their ancestors after battle.

“You know, I—“ Is all Nick can get out before Liv’s arms wrap around him, their lips pressed warmly against each other in this chilly street. Hers feel like silk against his. Her fingers run through his coarse hair. His hand finds the small of her back, then reaches around to her side. They stop breathing for a bit, forgetting where they are.

“This is wrong,” Liv says, before kissing Nick again.

“And unprofessional,” Nick adds, cradling Liv’s cheek in his palm. Her fingers find their way to Nick’s neck, massaging his stiff muscles. Kissing Nick feels like lying in an unmade bed. Liv has never felt this way towards him except tonight. It hit her like a lightning bolt. The way he smells, covered in dirt and gunpowder, couldn’t do a thing for what she feels for him.

Kissing Liv feels like breathing fresh air. It feels worse than running; Nick can’t seem to keep his heart still. Her skin is softer than anything he’d ever touched. So much so that it feels wrong to touch her. Liv feels him so gentle with her; he barely holds her. She laughs into his face.

“You’re a big softie.” She says. In his arms, she feels so small. Nick can feel her heart beating in her chest as it presses against his.

He smiles back, a big wolf-like grin. “You got me.”

Liv bites his lower lip, and Nick does the same. An urge to do something exceedingly unprofessional pops into their heads. Nick’s apartment, blinds drawn and doors locked, and their phones turned off or tossed away forever. Just then, two black vans pull up, and Anton’s men come out. One of them, in the Ivy League suit, approaches Nick, now glaring at them. Nick nods to the side entrance. “They’re all in there.”

“Thanks, asswipe.” Ivy League says as he steps past Nick. The men follow him, their memory wiping machines at the ready.

Nick looks at Liv, both realizing the moment is ruined. Quicksilver down a drain. They sit awkwardly, waiting for the men to enter the building. Liv looks back to make sure they’re gone.

“Let me give you a ride home.” Nick helps Liv to her feet.

“You think I’d let you leave me here?” Liv jokes.