Author's Note: Here's my second attempt at a fic for Push. I hope that everyone is having a wonderful holiday! :)
Disclaimer: Never. Not in a million years. Bummer.
I dropped an f-bomb, as well...just in case.
She felt like crap.
She really…really…felt like crap.
From where she was lying, all snuggled down into the warm depths of the motel room bed, she could see the nearly empty mickey of vodka sitting innocently on the bedside table. Just the sight of the alcohol in the bottle made her stomach heave and she groaned, burying her face further into her pillow.
There was a light snort from across the room and a muttered, "Told you so."
Bile was rising up the back of her throat and she swallowed hard, forcing the nauseous feeling back down. "Not…helping."
She recognized the sounds of Nick standing from his chair and crossing the room, his familiar shadow suddenly casting over her. "You look like death on a cracker, Cass." His pleasantly cool hand made contact with the warm skin of her forehead and she sighed at the temporary relief. "You feel sick at all?"
Cassie nodded against his hand, her eyes drifting closed.
"Why do you keep doin' this to yourself, huh?"
She knew immediately what he was referring too; the fact that half of Hong Kong was no longer out there because she drank it.
In his voice was obvious frustration and worry, she could hear it as plain as anything. As he usually did whenever she drank too much, he blamed himself for not keeping the bottles out of her hands, as if he had some sort of obligation or responsibility.
"Gives me clearer pictures—"
"Yeah, you said that, but is it worth it?"
"I think so."
She heard him sigh and felt the shift in weight when he lowered himself down onto the edge of the mattress. Cassie forced her eyes open so she could look at him.
"Your mom used to drink like that?"
She swallowed hard and moved just a little bit closer to him—his presence there beside her, as crazy as it was, was making her feel better. "It was always vodka or tequila."
He gave the smallest shake of his head. "And did it really give her clearer visions? Or was it just an excuse to booze herself up?"
The words hit her right in the pit of her stomach and she felt moisture welling in her eyes against her will.
At thirteen and a half, Cassie was so beyond her years it wasn't even funny. She'd seen and heard things, experienced things that no other girl her age should ever have to.
When she allowed herself to think about it, she could still vividly remember the day Division had taken her mother. They'd only been in Hong Kong a few short months and their apartment was a lot like the one she'd first found Nick hiding himself away in; a small one bedroom hovel with nothing more than a sink, a beaten down refrigerator, one double bed and a leaky toilet.
She remembered that she'd been asleep one moment, cuddled down into ratty but familiar sheets with her mother beside her…and the next moment she was startled awake by her mother's panicked voice, urging her out of sleep and down onto the floor with strict instructions not to come out from under the bed no matter what she saw or heard.
Her mother had been telling her for years about the man with the light brown hair and blue eyes. The Mover who had lost even more than they had; the Mover that would need to be convinced, but once he had been, would be as loyal as anyone could ever be. The man that would go to the ends of the earth to see Division brought down…the man that would die if it meant keeping Cassie safe and protected.
"Find Nick," Were her mother's last words to her. "Cassie…you find him."
She remembered the sound of the front door crashing down and the sudden wave of black army boots storming their way in. They were shouting things, their voices harsh; "Get down on the fuckin' floor!". Cassie watched her mother fall into the center of the swarm, the flashlights mounted on the tops of their rifles the only light in the entire apartment.
A couple of them poked and prodded at her, calling her freak or abomination.
As they pulled her from the apartment, Cassie's mother said nothing—she made no pleas for freedom, no attempts at bribery or enticement. She'd simply remained silent and allowed them to drag her through the door like an animal, her feet trailing along the dingy carpet, her hands tied behind her back, a black bag thrown over her head to cover her eyes.
The small thirteen year old stayed under that bed for nearly twelve hours, too scared to even poke her head out.
She'd stayed in the apartment with the door bolted shut for another week.
And then she'd started looking for the focus of her mother's visions—the brown haired, blue eyed man named Nick.
Cassie was brought back into reality when she heard Nick sigh again, a finger suddenly making contact with her cheek and wiping away the single tear that had started to fall.
"I'm sorry." He muttered quietly. "I shouldn't have said that."
She swallowed hard. "Doesn't matter."
Find Nick. Cassie…you find him.
"She told me to find you."
Having trained his eyes down on the floor, Nick raised his head, his face barely lit in the minimal light coming in through the curtains. "Your mom."
"It was the last thing she ever said to me."
"She knew."
It was a statement. Not a question.
Cassie gave a small nod into her pillow. "She'd been telling me about you for as long as I can remember. Mostly what you looked like…and that I'd need to convince you."
"Well," Nick breathed a laugh. "You were pretty convincing."
"I guess the lie about the six million worked, huh?", she smiled wanly.
"No, it wasn't that."
"It wasn't what?"
He turned himself just slightly, locking eyes with her in the semi-darkness. "It wasn't the money."
Cassie was instantly skeptical and she frowned at him somewhat good-naturedly. "Don't lie."
"I'm not lyin'."
"It was the money at first though, wasn't it?"
"Maybe at first, yeah. But you wanna know what it was? What it really was?" She gave a slow blink and nodded again; Nick merely fussed, pulling her blankets a little higher. "That flower."
"What flower?"
"After the Stitch, remember? That healing clinic down near the docks?"
The frown lines in Cassie's forehead smoothed out. "The Lotus?"
"The Lotus."
"A flower got you to believe me?"
Nick looked thoughtful for a moment. Then, in a quiet voice, he said, "Someday…a girl is going to give you a flower. You help her, and you help us all."
"What does that mean?"
"That was the last thing my father ever said to me. Right before Carver shot him."
She whispered, "How did he know?"
"He said to me that a woman he trusted told him…and that I was special." He sighed. "And even though none of it made sense, he promised that it would someday."
"How old were you?"
"Your age. Thirteen."
She moved a little closer to him. "Were you scared?"
"I was at first." His bottom lip caught between his teeth lightly. "I didn't have anyone. After they killed my dad, I ran…been running ever since. Even ten years later."
"Well…you have someone now."
The words were small and they were fragile…but the impact they had, at that moment, was anything but.
His hand came down gently on her forehead, pushing aside the messy strands of hair that always seemed to cover her eyes. There was a sad smile on Nick's face; a wistful look that she'd never seen cross his features before.
"Yeah," He whispered. "You too."
It was on that night that Cassie promised never again to pick up a bottle—clearer visions or not.
It was on that night that they started hugging each other goodnight—Cassie climbing into the bed, Nick situating himself on the frumpy old couch near the door.
And it was on that night that they'd openly started asking each other questions about what they remembered of their parents—their fondest memories, early morning breakfasts, bedtime stories. Absolutely everything they could think of.
They figured that since their parents had worked so hard to bring them together, they might as well make them apart of it all.
Nick's father had told his young son about the girl with the flower…the one he needed to trust, protect and help at all costs. And Cassie's mother had told her young daughter about the brown-haired and blue-eyed Mover that needed to be reminded of what life was and what it meant to live it.
Their parents had set them both on a path towards each other.
And together, they'd figure out a way to stay on it.
END