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[There is some minor debate here as to whether or not it was worth it. Shit is very clearly about to start going down and he may not even get it in-time for whatever's waiting around the corner. But if there's one thing Stark's learned through the years, if it's not one thing, it's another.]

[The problem is, he's not asking for something minor. If it was just a weapon or hell even Spiritus Dei, he'd just ask. And Vin would probably concede no problem without question or much prying. Those things don't really matter and, in the end, Stark can get by without. This, though, is no minor favor.]

[Which means he might have to talk.]

[Stark is not good at talking. He doesn't like to talk. He's mastered the art of deflecting and not talking to the point it's a formulaic science that can't be beat. He'd rather read than talk. Actually, he would rather lose an arm than talk. Point is: talking bad, anything else good. But he knows the deal with Vin. If he wants a lot, he has to give a lot.]

[Of course, that doesn't mean he won't try to find ways to avoid talking as much as possible.]

my cabin in five.

[He knows she won't be satisfied with being allowed inside his cabin alone, but it's enough to signal he wants something big and important. And it's enough to send the clear message she shouldn't get greedy and push it either just because he wants something a little more than a na'at or sawed off.]

voice.
I can't believe I'm the one saying this, but have any of you considered--I don't know.

Zen meditation? Yoga? Deep breathing? Excessive drinking?

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[She touches nothing, hands clasped behind her back. She does look up at him sharply. Not dismissive - curious. It's not a bad idea.]

How would it work here?

Fuck if I know for sure.

[Stark is not an expert in this metaphysical bullshit. He just uses it and as long as it does something, he isn't gonna complain.]

I doubt the Admiral is gonna let me wander off to Hell and I'm not planning on walking there any time soon if that's what you're asking.

[Stark tops off his half-lie with a drag from his cigarette. If given the option between this place or Downtown, he knows what his choice would be. Hell is Hell. It's more familiar and comfortable to him than it should be, but it is what it is. The Barge was never in the plans.]

If anything, it'll give us somewhere to hunker down if shit hits the fan.

[She nods. And she flares tin. She wants to hear the truth in his heart, if he's lying to her. Technically this is cheating. Still with the not caring.]

And if he gives it back to you and it leads somewhere worse?

[Stark goes into every conversation with Vin expecting her to be cheating. It doesn't bother him even if she is. It's not like he isn't doing the same damn thing.]

Well then, I guess I'll be saying hello to some old pals in Tartarus then, won't I?

[His heartbeat and breathing are completely even. It doesn't bother him that much. It's not like it's never crossed his mind he could wind up there either somehow. Get yourself enough enemies and you expect to get fucked from every angle possible.]

[This is true. Stark knows worse, and he knows it intimately. Maybe he ought to be more worried, but she can't find it in herself to push him. At least he's thinking, even if it's not a perfect plan.]

I'll think about it.

[Which is mostly a challenge. If Stark can offer something else, she'll give him the key for good. If he can't - she'll consider giving it to him temporarily. Consider.]

[She could also just knock him out and carry him around in a sack for the duration of the emergency.]

That's not good enough.

[There's just the slightest spike in his heartrate. Anger. Definitely anger.]

[When is it not?]

[She hops up lightly and perches on a chair - literally perches, like a bird, arms resting on her knees, dark eyes fixed on Stark's.]

You came into this understanding it would probably be a trade. I can protect you. I can keep you safe. I can kill anyone or anything that gets near you - and I will, if it becomes necessary. But you want to protect yourself. I understand.

[She really, really does.]

Give me something. [Let me help.] And I'll give back.

[He hates this. He really, really does. Because she's right. Because Vidocq's also right that he's a goddamn cowboy with too much pride and not enough common sense for his own damn good. He knows she means well, but he prefers it when she's hitting him in the head with coins over this. Hell, he'd take a knife to the gut better than this.]

[Stark breaks the gaze with her and his silence is stony, but not a no or get fucked even if he feels like saying both to her. Cutting a deal with Lucifer was easier than this horseshit, but it's what he's stuck with. And he hates it and he resents her for it because he doesn't like being the weaker party. He can manage being the weaker one, but it doesn't mean he likes it. That was part of the point in making a deal with Lucifer and Aelita. He got them both by the short and curlies and he was calling the shots.]

[Vin might try to create the illusion as much as possible that he's the one with the power here, but he's not a fucking idiot. He knows she's the one in control.]

[Which means, in this case, reciprocity is a steaming pile of bullshit. Stark gets something out of it, but he loses either way.]

What do you want?

[It's easier to just let her ask the questions. It's not like she doesn't have any stored away anyways.]

[Stark puts his cigarette out.]

[She doesn't touch Alice. Not this time.]

[Instead, she breathes quietly and lets the acrid scent of his dying cigarette filter into her lungs. She asks the question that she wishes someone - other than Zane, anyone other than Zane - had asked her, ages ago.]

I want to know how often you think about killing.

[That surprises Stark and adequately takes him off-guard.]

[It's easier to answer anything about Alice, but it's still not that easy to answer all the same. There's layers upon layers with something like that and Stark doesn't know where to begin. Or where to stop. But that's probably his whole damn problem that wound him up in this shithole in the first place. Once he started fighting, he never quite figured out how to stop.]

[He's better now. Better than he used to be, anyway. When he first crawled out of Downtown, there was no line. He just shot, killed, maimed, and probably would have tortured more than just Kas if given the opportunity first without a second thought. He did. It was only through some small modicum of restraint that he managed not to tear Brad Pitt apart. Only through sheer will that he made himself shut up that part of his brain that was letting his cup runneth over with paranoia that it wasn't Earth; just some kind of convoluted and twisted new torture meant to break him all over again.]

[There's no denying that James Stark died eleven years ago.]

[That guy was long-gone. He couldn't survive Hell. But Stark doesn't blame him too much for bailing like that. James Stark was a dick, but he wasn't really meant to rub elbows with the Damned and Fugly of Downtown. He wasn't supposed to spend every night waiting for his number to be up, wondering if this next fight would be it; if this next hit would go wrong.]

[That was Sandman Slim.]

[But as much as Stark wants to push aside and blame Hell for it, he can't help but feel that nagging question of whether or not it's where he really belongs. He's barely civilized, barely recognizably human even on his best days. He's become that urban legend that leaves Lurkers, humans, Sub Rosa, and even Hellions shitting their pants at night. He's the living and breathing boogeyman because of his sheer brutality and outright refusal to just fucking die already. Even here, he hasn't let Sandman Slim go. He can't.]

[Because like it or not, it's who he is now and no amount of wanting to be a good little boy and use his indoor voice and semblance of manners, he can't shake it. He was the science experiment. He's fucking Frankenstein's monster.]

[He knows Vidocq doesn't want to think of him that way. He knows Allegra tries not to and generally fails. He knows Doc Kinski has and probably always will think of him that way. Aelita sure as fuck is in agreement with that sentiment. And Candy? Candy doesn't give a shit one way or another. Which, he supposes, is kinda nice. But really, they're just both faced with the same problem that the others can't and won't understand because they don't want to understand. Not really.]

[Which is why this question is as difficult as it is for Stark to answer. The last thing he wants is for Vin to understand or for her to want to. That doesn't say a lot of good things about her situation. And so fucking sue him, he feels protective of her. He can't help it. She's capable. She's tough. She's a pint-sized badass who won't take shit from anyone, not even from him. But he still doesn't want that kind of shit lurking around in her past that could make her understand or make her want to understand legitimately.]

[Stark has two options. He can tell a lie. He can say not that much anymore. He can say not at all. He can say it without having a skip in his heartbeat, a change in his breathing. She'll still know it's a lie, but he can sell it like it's not.]

[Or he can tell the truth.]

[And that's so much fucking worse.]

How often do you think about breathing?

[She bows her head.]

[She can't help caring for him, any more than he can help feeling protective of her. There are qualities that they see in each other that - aren't mirrors, not exactly, but are, perhaps, like a spot-the-difference painting. All the things Vin can't seem to bother caring about in herself, all the terrible things she's seen in her short life and her shorter time of quasi-happiness . . . when she sees the way things like those damage Stark, she feels a great deal.]

[But she doesn't pity him. She knows what pity would do. It would take away what little power he has and give it to those who tormented him. She won't do that. He's too important.]

[Instead, she mourns the death of James Stark and the birth of Sandman Slim, and tries, through the dull fog of her grief, to find a way to bring them together.]

[When she lifts her head, she's steel-eyed. She remembers when killing was the only option. The only way to stay alive. She remembers.]

[She will give him the tools to kill his fear.]

How often do you think you want to live?

[She knows the answer to this one. She remembers that, too.]

That's a little moot in this shithole, but I don't think about dying.

[Which, for him, was a step up.]

[He wasn't the suicide type. At least, that's what he said. What he thought. But then Candy said something smart - as she's so often prone to doing - and he had one of those small epiphanies where he realized just how much of a fucking dumbass he really is sometimes.]

[So, he smartened up.]

[A little, anyway.]

[Not thinking about dying isn't exactly the same thing as thinking about living and he knows that. Trouble is, he can't just seem to bring himself to really care much about that difference or to want to make the change. Getting revenge didn't bring Alice - something he knew and long-since accepted - and it didn't make life any less of a meaningless wait than it already was.]

That's not what I asked you.

[She taps him lightly on the cheek, not quite a reprimand. More of a reminder. She's here, and so is he. And no matter how little he's interested in the future, there is, at least, a present, during which he has nothing much to do but survive. Maybe even live a little - which isn't the same as surviving.]

What happens next year? And the year after that?

[He knows she already knows the answer to that and he gives her a look that says as much. Alice isn't there. Mason is dead and in Hell. The Circle's dead with a minor technicality with the disembodied head he shares an apartment with. He works two jobs, one for decent money and the other for a bullshit check that he consistently has to haggle over to get what he deserves.]

[Or rather he did.]

[Stark doesn't have an apartment with a disembodied head, he has a cabin that's empty with memories he both does and does not want near him. He doesn't have jobs either. He has a day-to-day existence where he doesn't get to fight. He doesn't even have to fight anymore. For most people, that would be a comfort. But Stark is not most people. He's not even sure most days that he qualifies as a people at all. Instead, he just feels restless and useless. He wakes up and then he goes to sleep every single day without end. He wonders how much longer until he finally snaps and starts talking to the broken TV like there's little green people inside who know the way to Narnia and he starts keep track of the days with scratched tallies on the floorboards underneath the bed.]

[Maybe he should steal some tinfoil from the kitchen preemptively.]

[But he can't say all that. He knows looking at her like that is both childish and defeating the purpose because she wants him to talk. If he wants to help himself get the damn Key, he has to talk. But he can't say that.]

[He can't and won't give voice to any of those thoughts. He just shuts them up by throwing fuel on the fire. Stark opens the bottle of Aqua Regia on the coffee table and pours himself a glass. Stark picks it up, but he doesn't drink from it right away. He just stares into it like it holds some kind of answer for him to give her that will satisfy her.]

[Maybe he should ask the little green people anyway.]

Who the fuck cares? [he asks her as much as himself before knocking the drink back.]

[She knocks the glass out of his hand, sending it spiraling and crashing to the floor. She isn't angry. Not quite, not really. But she's hurt, and she doesn't bother to hide that. She holds the hurt for everyone who loves him, in all their strange little ways. She takes Vidocq and Allegra and Candy into her heart.]

[(She does not take Alice. She has no right to Alice.)]

Me. I do.

[Stark looks up at Vin with an expression that could very easily be mistaken for a glare, but it's a hair down from that. It's just a hard look as his hand stays momentarily where the glass was.]

[He's the first to break away though and also drops his hand. He's always the first to look away because he never knows how to deal with this. He especially doesn't know how to deal with this from Vin. Dissimilar as she is from him, she's cut from a similar cloth.]

[And she's important.]

[Even if Stark isn't to himself, she is.]

[But it also makes him angry because it's not what he wants. Stark realizes that it's selfish and juvenile, but he doesn't have the greatest track record in terms of looking out for people who care about him. Even if they don't end up dead, they end up way in over their heads because he's constantly stirring the pot with things way over his head.]

Well, that only makes one of us, Vin, because I just can't seem to give a shit anymore. I did what I came back to do and they threw me a fucking party over it because I didn't just drop a house on the Wicked Witch, I tossed his ass into Hell to get torn apart. I didn't just remove his head from his shoulders and let that be that. I let them do the same fucking thing to him that they did to me knowing he isn't gonna survive it anywhere near as long.

Some Hellion's gonna do a little exploratory surgery and crack open his melon to see if he can make him dance by prodding at the right spot in his brain. Another's going to see if he can still walk if he doesn't have feet. Another's going to see just how many bones they can break before he passes out. And, for more fun, they're not gonna feed him unless they want his opinion on how his own gallbladder tastes or let him sleep for more than thirty minutes at a time. They're gonna jump into his cage in the middle of the night and drag him out just to beat him because why not? They're gonna launch hexes at him that makes his eyeballs feel like they're on fire until he nearly blinds himself clawing at them. And the real kicker? They're gonna fix him right back up and start all over again until they've cut, carved, and maimed everything they possibly can and the sideshow freak loses appeal.

But you know what the real pisser is, Vin? None of that means a goddamn thing to me in the end. I'm the monster that kills monsters and I gave the biggest one there is what he deserves. But there's still nothing left for me.

[Not a single flinch. Not in the face of his expression or what he's describing or what's underneath the words he's saying. There is so much under what he says; he says so many stupid, stupid things to hide the fact that he hurts. He hurts desperately. He hurts so much that if she could reach into his heart and pull the pain out of him hand over hand she would do it in an instant.]

[But that's the easy way out, and it won't help.]

[She doesn't flinch or move, she is stone, she is steel, she is still, and when he's done, she nods.]

Yes. There's nothing left for you.

Not yet.

[She has built an empire. She can make a life for this man, or she can die a hundred times trying.]

[Stark hates the way she's looking at him and what she's saying. It's because of looks and words like that he's been keeping to himself. He sees Vidocq and Allegra when it's necessary. He sees Doc Kinski and Candy even less. He can barely even remember the last time he saw Mr. Muninn. They say shit like that if he gives them an opportunity and they look at him like that when his back is turned.]

[He can get annoyed with pity or concern. But he cannot fucking stand when people look at him with care in their eyes. That just puts hope in there and then it's quickly followed up by disappointment because that's what he does.]

[And he hates it. He hates letting them down. He hates that every time he lets himself think about her, he can just picture the look on Alice's face if she really knew what he had become. It makes him feel smaller than he's ever felt in his life and he's the ant under the magnifying glass.]

[But he can't be any other way than he is. He can't stop the way he feels. It's not like he likes having to drink himself to sleep at night or that he's constantly stifling the urge to kill something like some kind of fucking addict. Maybe it isn't fair that he won't talk about it to the people who say they want to know, but too fucking bad. He knows they don't really want to know regardless of how much they do or don't care about him. Nobody wants to know that shit. He doesn't want to know that shit. But it's always and constantly crawling around in his head. He can shake it during the day, but when it's night? And it's quiet? When he's asleep? It's impossible.]

[Even if he talked until he was blue in the face about Hell though--about everything he saw and did and had happen to him--it would never let them really get it. Vin thinks she can get it because she saw a memory and because she read a file. Because she's seen some shit. Because she's around him enough to know his habits and the way he acts. But that's not enough to really get it because that's something you need actually under your skin to really get. So, instead, it's just enough to piss him off. It's enough to make him want to break something or bludgeon someone. Which only sends him into a spiral of self-loathing because where the fuck does he get off being pissed at her (or Vidocq or Allegra or Candy) for wanting something more for him? It's childish and selfish. And yet...]

[Being in this room isn't helping with that feeling right now either. He's very acutely aware that he doesn't want to be near Vin or in this room. He needs to get the hell away from both of them. He needs some air.]

[Jesus Christ, if only Alice could see him now. Would she be disgusted or disappointed? Probably both. But story of his life. And either way, he'd rather Vin was looking at him like the way he imagines Alice would be if she were standing right there than the way Vin is right now. He could just say to hell with her then because what the fuck does her opinion really matter in the long-run? He can't do that right now.]

[He just needs air.]

[Stark stands up and grabs his coat, putting it on.]

You can see yourself out.

[He leaves and doesn't close the door behind him.]

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