Disclaimer: Sri Sumbajee declares this all disclaimer!
A/N: We now return with your regularly scheduled program. IE, the other half of the really long chapter.
Their blades met, clattering and snarling against each other before the two combatants parted, eyeing each other, each searching for a weakness or an opening. Squirrel snarled and swore and leapt at the man again. Mercer raised his blade to fend her off, but she spun her dagger in her hand, pivoted on her foot, and attacked him on his vulnerable left side. He looked impressed for a split-second, before he, too, turned on the spot, his own dagger slicing towards her face. With a screech she dropped down into a crouch, then pushed herself up into the air, back-flipping over the man's head. As soon as she'd landed, she snarled, switched her dagger to her left hand, and raised it to strike him. Mercer moved fluidly; he caught her strike on the hilt of his blade, then grabbed hold of her wrist with his free arm. Trapping her.
He didn't say a word. Not one word. But he just smiled when he saw the tears in her eyes. He just smiled.
Squirrel screamed at him. She leapt forward, twisting herself backwards so that both feet were slammed against the man's chest. As Mercer staggered in one direction, Squirrel leapt, landed, and rolled to a crouch in the other. She threw her dagger back to her right hand and rose to her feet, ready to leap and strike again.
Mercer set his face, eyes cold, and drew his sword. He was done testing her. He moved so fast - as fast as she did, maybe faster - that she barely had time to brace her feet against the deck before both sword and dagger came down on her. She continued to shout at him, curses that had no context but were foul nonetheless, as she dodged both blades. She wanted to draw her sword too, but the killer left her with no time, no opportunity. So she ran, and leapt, and spun, and stabbed recklessly with her dagger where she could, hoping to wear the man down. She had youth and speed on her side, didn't she?
Squirrel gave a yell as the sword slashed the air before her, and some of her hair drifted free and fell feather-like to the deck. She ducked under his arm, thinking to rise up and pierce his belly with her dagger, but his own dagger was there to protect him. She barely deflected it in time before she had to jump and roll out of the way of his sword.
She rose to her feet, gasping, no breath left for curses, then ran futilely at him again. Mercer's expression never changed. As she raged with her dagger and flailed with her fist, he batted her aside, countering with bare twitches of movement that left her reeling and staggering. It didn't take long for Squirrel to realise she was outmatched, and in more ways than one.
She had a conscience. He was a murderer.
Mercer saw her hesitation and the fear, and he showed some emotion at last. He smiled. He moved swiftly towards her, sword raised and dagger held low. Then he looked over Squirrel's shoulder and jumped back, quickly.
Barbossa charged with a hearty laugh, his sword singing through the air.
Mercer yelled, his sword knocked from his hand and clattering to the deck at Squirrel's feet. Barbossa just laughed, continuing to drive Mercer further back along the prow. The captain wasn't even trying; his blows were careless and casual, and Mercer struggled to defend himself with just his dagger. The man staggered back, back, back, towards the railing of the ship, driven by a nonchalant Barbossa.
The captain drew back his arm, ready to swing; Mercer leapt forward and slashed at Barbossa's free arm. Barbossa gave a surprised shout, and a line of red appeared on his hand. That small window was all the opportunity that Mercer needed. He turned and dived overboard.
Squirrel rushed to the railing, throwing daggers readied in her left hand, watching the water for signs of Mercer's resurfacing. But a hand closed tight around her wrist.
"Leave 'im, angel. No sense in wastin' those. He's already gone."
Squirrel pivoted on her foot, turning sharply and suddenly to the left. Barbossa stared with some measure of surprise at her ferocious face, and at the way the point of her dagger pressed against his vest, but he did not let go of her. They stood, like a pair of dancers caught mid-step, their left arms caught up in the air between them.
She was breathing heavy, and not just from the fight. Barbossa studied her calmly.
"What's this?" He asked, eyebrow raised.
Squirrel gave a hissing growl in reply, and took a step forward.
"Ye really think ye can beat me?" Barbossa asked, as though he were only asking her opinion on the weather. He lifted his sword a little, just to make a point.
"No," Squirrel breathed, "But I can make you bleed." She knew she was too close to him for Barbossa to be able to strike her with his sword. She was, after all, practically wrapped in the man's arms.
Barbossa's blue eyes weren't cold, like she expected them to be. Rather, they were curious. And amused. It infuriated her. "Somethin' the matter, angel?"
Squirrel pressed the point a little harder into his gut, but still not enough to pierce him. "You just let her go! You just let him take her!" Her raging thoughts were just as venomous as her voice. I thought you were an honourable man! I thought I could trust you!
"She volunteered, angel." Barbossa gripped her wrist tighter, and twisted. Squirrel grunted in pain, and the throwing daggers fell from her fingers and pierced the deck with three muted thuds.
"Oh, so that makes you innocent, does it?" She growled, still in Barbossa's grip.
He continued to examine her steadily. "And here I thought ye despised Miss Swann."
Squirrel gaped, caught off-guard, and the dagger pulled back an inch. "I…" What a fool she'd been, letting Barbossa read her like that. But he'd seen her, hadn't he? When she'd shouted at Elizabeth on the Hai Peng, and perhaps he'd seen through Squirrel's own false smile on the journey to Singapore, as well. Squirrel shook her head slightly, trying to deny it, trying to make it less true.
"Look me in the eye, and call me out as a liar, if ye've got the stones." Barbossa waited a moment. Squirrel held his gaze for as long as she could, then dropped her eyes and stared instead at the medallion he wore around his neck, feeling wretched and sick. Barbossa grunted, satisfied. "I didn't think so. So why the change of heart?"
She looked up and snarled at him. "You could have stopped him! You could have done something!"
"Could I? And why would I want to do that?" He winced slightly as he felt the pressure of the dagger renewed. "Sao Feng was the only one who could help us, and Miss Swann kindly aided us in that regard." He smiled slightly. "And I believe ye didn't answer me question, angel."
Squirrel's heart was pounding in her ears, and she stared with anger and disgust at the man in front of her. "I can't believe you. I can't believe you were spineless enough to let a woman suffer that… to let her be…" Words failed her, and her voice ended hoarsely. She glared at him, with angry tears threatening to spill over. "I didn't expect you to understand."
Barbossa smiled slowly, knowingly. "Is this about Elizabeth Swann, angel, or is it about you?"
Again, Squirrel hesitated. But this time she didn't pull away the dagger. "What are you talking about?" Her voice dropped to a near-inaudible whisper.
It didn't matter. Barbossa wasn't even listening. He looked like he was recalling something, a memory from somewhere. After a moment, he lifted his eyes and smiled pityingly at her. "Ah…" He said softly, gently, "So that's why ye never wanted t' be called a whore."
Squirrel started to shake; she couldn't help it, but she couldn't stop, either. Shadows of Tortuga leapt up in her mind, clouding everything, everything. "Sh-sh-shutup!" She shouted, twisting free of Barbossa's grip. "Shutup! You don't know me! You don't know anything!"
The cannons of the Pearl and the Empress roared through the daylight, and the air was thick with the smell of gunpowder and blood, of men's dying screams and the triumphant laughter of the victors. But Squirrel only heard the laughter of whores and drunkards and street thugs, only smelled spilt rum and piss and smoke and sweat, only saw the crowds of people and the broken plates and the shadowed streets, and the ladders that were her only way to safety.
But as far as she climbed, she couldn't get away from it. The fear clung to her, clawing with clammy hands. Hands like Xin Fu's. Like Sao Feng's. Like her uncle's.
She shuddered and cried, the ropes rough on her palms, as she climbed higher and higher into the rigging. A childhood instinct drove her on. Up was safety. Up was away. The world below was cruel and painful. If she could just get out of their reach she'd be fine. But she was shaking all over, and her breath was coming in pained gasps. She had to stop, suspended from a rope between the Pearl's two masts, the battle raging below her and the cannons booming. It took a moment for her to recover, to remember, to reorient herself.
But she barely had that moment, because something crashed into her and sent her flying. She flailed, and with a split-second to think she caught hold of whatever it was that had struck her. Her senses were reeling, but she knew what she was clinging to was a person; a person swinging swiftly from a rope, but a person nonetheless. She had her arms around their neck. The world blurred past, horribly fast; the sea and the sky and the sight of the three ships swung past her vision so fast she had no idea where was up or where was down or even where she was going. Squirrel buried her head into the chest of whoever she was hanging onto, and tried to fight the dizziness. She felt one arm wrap around her waist, tight and reassuring, and was glad for the support.
For however long it felt to Squirrel to swing aimlessly and dizzyingly through the rigging, it was over in a moment. She felt herself and whoever she clung to soar through the air, and land roughly. She tried to step, and found she was balancing precariously on the headboard above the helm. Behind her was a sheer drop to the sea. To move would be a bad idea. She clung tighter, then it came to her that perhaps she should find out who exactly she was clinging to.
The sight of him seemed to jar harshly against the memories that had assaulted her not a moment ago. She stood there, utterly confused. This made no sense. She stayed up in the rafters, always; he was always on the ground. Always, always, always. Every since she could remember, that was the way it had always been.
Yet here she was, arms around Jack, and Jack's arm around her.
He glanced at her, and winked. Squirrel was too stunned even to blush. Jack looked back, down to the helm wheel, and leaned casually on the lantern. Barbossa and the crew stood, staring incredulously at the sight of Jack standing where he was, holding Squirrel in a cavalier manner, like she was some kind of trophy.
"And that," Jack told them all with a cocky grin, "Was without even a single drop of rum."
Barbossa scowled and muttered, one-upped; he turned away in disgust - and maybe even envy - at Jack's perpetual showmanship. The rest of the crew stared with wide eyes and raised eyebrows. Jack just grinned down at them all, as though this were something he had planned all along.
As Jack jumped down, back onto the deck, Squirrel felt her senses and memories reassert themselves. She pulled away from Jack - he didn't notice, as he was pulling in the opposite direction. Will stared stubbornly at him; Jack matched his gaze, darkly, unforgivingly. Pintel and Gibbs clapped a hand on each of Will's shoulders, in much the same way that Sao Feng's men had done before.
Squirrel watched, doing nothing, saying nothing. The maelstrom was still churning away inside her, but since her rage at Mercer and her tears in the rigging, it was shielded from sight. She could have stepped forward, protested, but she didn't She just observed what unfolded, as she'd done since she was a little girl. But this time, she had knowledge of things that a girl in Tortuga could never know. And a new reason to hold back.
Jack showed no pity. "Send this pestilent traitorous cow-hearted yeasty codpiece to the brig."
Will and Jack continued to glower at each other until the former was dragged down the stairs. Jack watched, fingers curling and uncurling, until Will had been thrown roughly below, and was out of sight. Then he smiled, and twirled to face Squirrel with a mischief sparkling in his eyes.
"Now that that bit of unpleasantness is out of the way…"
"Not quite," Squirrel said coolly, and climbed down the stairs. She hadn't been watching Will's passage. She'd been watching Barbossa. Mastering her emotions, masking them behind a calm face, she crossed the deck and went to stand before him.
Barbossa looked at her curiously - pityingly? - and waited for her to speak first.
"It seems the stories were true, after all. You've given me first-hand proof of that."
"Oh," Barbossa pursed his mouth into an 'o', looking more amused than wounded, "Don't be like that, angel."
Squirrel didn't even move. She just stood, still as stone and face as blank as slate. Barbossa's smile faded slowly, as did the laughter in his eyes. Squirrel was acting in a way he would never have seen before. She'd always been emotional, always let Barbossa see how it was she was feeling, even if it only showed through her eyes. She'd always been honest with him, because she thought she could trust him. No longer.
They're pirates. Never trust a pirate.
Squirrel heard footsteps behind her, and knew Jack was listening in. Good. This is for him to hear, too. "For a man who wants a second chance," she said steadily, keeping every flicker of emotion hidden, "You're doing a poor job of proving you're worth one."
Barbossa's frown deepened. His eyes flickered to Jack a moment, then back to Squirrel.
"Did you mean anything you said?" Squirrel continued, calmly, "Did you mean anything you told me? About forgiveness, and cost… Did you believe any of it? Or were you just trying to get me on your side?"
"What's going on?" Jack asked, coming to stand to Squirrel's left. "Luv, what's wrong?"
"Leave her be, Jack." Barbossa folded his arms, no longer smiling. "She's mad at the world for the time bein'."
Squirrel slowly closed one eye. "Or at some of the people in it."
The monkey dropped out of the rigging with a chatter, landing on Squirrel's shoulder. He had her three lost throwing daggers with him, and offered them to her. She accepted them in an open palm, her eyes never once leaving Barbossa's.
Jack was frowning thoughtfully, looking between Squirrel and Barbossa. "What you do?" He finally asked, addressing his accusation to the man in black.
Barbossa turned to face Jack, trying not to show how Squirrel's steady gaze was unsettling him. "Miss Swann volunteered herself as an incentive for Sao Feng to change sides. That's how we happened t' get the Pearl back."
"Huh," Jack said, digesting this. He frowned, still thoughtful, then looked to Squirrel. Then he sighed, his lips pulling to one side, as though he were weighing up what he could possibly say. Finally he looked at Barbossa with a slightly disappointed look on his face. "After everything that's happened, Hector, I never thought I'd find myself…" He paused a moment, searching for the word, and then struggling with it, "… Agreein' with you."
Squirrel slowly turned her eyes towards Jack, focusing her silent burning gaze on him instead.
"Why, thankye, Jack." Barbossa burred, smugly.
Jack scowled, almost as an afterthought. "Doesn't mean I like you."
"O' course not. Wouldn't expect ye to."
Jack turned to face Squirrel, and flinched under the intensity of her stare. "What?" He shrugged, palms up. "We got the Pearl back, and we've gotten out of both Beckett's and Sao Feng's reach for the time being. I'd say everything worked out pretty well, wouldn't you?"
"And if Sao Feng had asked for me instead?" She asked, softly, emotionlessly.
Jack's fingers twitched in the air. He remembered - he knew what she was talking about. What am I worth to you, Jack? But he hesitated for only a bare moment, then forced a smile. "Well, he didn't, did he?" He smiled, trying to reassure, wanting her to understand. Barbossa looked archly but understandingly at Squirrel, thinking he'd proven his point. But Squirrel ignored them both.
Everything that had ever transpired seemed to come crashing down on Squirrel in this very moment. The storm inside her was raging, raging, raging. All that had ever been done, or said, everything she'd ever thought or imagined… it was all here. So much at once, threatening to overwhelm her, an ocean of thoughts; she was losing the very ground beneath her feet. But she didn't give a single outward sign of it.
Jack, making a deal with Davy Jones. Elizabeth and Will torn apart on their wedding day. Tia, promising destiny and answers from her self-woven reality. Jack, standing with Davy Jones, agreeing to betray his friend and ninety-nine strangers in order to save his own skin. Norrington, his life destroyed by his own ambition though he refused to admit it. Elizabeth, who came to a liar expecting the truth. Jack, toying with Squirrel's emotions and uncaring about the consequences. Norrington, stealing the heart and running off like a hero. Will, standing his ground and giving the crew courage. Jack, fleeing, and returning only to die. Elizabeth, his murderer, who hid her guilt well. Barbossa, his arrival prompting surprise, fear, suspicion. Will's scars. Sam's pleas. Tia's riddles. Xin Fu's threats. Barbossa's warnings. Sao Feng's manipulations. Jack's return from the dead.
And she, a liar, a thief, a drunkard, a traitor and a mutineer… whose plan for the future was falling to tatters about her as she stood.
When no-one is innocent, she thought, grieved and guilty and hate-filled, Who is the villain?
No-one, she answered herself, We all are.
The monkey cooed at her, concerned, playing with the jade ornament that hung from her earring. Continuing to keep her emotions well-masked, she tucked the throwing three daggers back into their slots on her sash. Her eyes never left Jack and Barbossa. She persisted in staring them down. Neither of the captains quite knew how to handle this. Was she angry? Was she about to cry? Didn't she care at all? Neither of them could tell.
Truth be told, she wanted to. Wanted to scream and cry and curse and shout and weep. But she didn't. She didn't even show this in a facial expression. She couldn't.
Something tapped lightly against her hand; she looked down. The silver compass had slipped free from her sash - most likely from the fight with Mercer - and was swinging free at her belt. Squirrel caught it gently, and rubbed her thumb slowly over it, feeling the silver warm to her companionably. She kept the pained ache in her heart from her face, but the thoughts in her head turned swiftly to the one who'd given her the compass. 'To help you find your way', he said. But how am I supposed to find my way now? This choice… I thought it would be hard to decide. As of right now, it's the easiest thing I could ever do. But at the same time… I can't go through with it. I can't. With all the thoughts roiling and boiling in her mind, it was a wonder she could think at all. She looked up at Barbossa and Jack, saw them watching her curiously. She tucked the compass back safely under her sash, eyes down. After all that's been done, I can't do what I know I must. I'm such a fool. Such a coward.
"At least I have your forgiveness."
Squirrel turned her eyes away from the men, and looked out to sea. It didn't seem fair that such a horrible, painful day had such a clear sky, such beautiful sunshine. The orange-finned Empress sailed off in one direction; the Endeavour floundered on the open water, its mainmast shattered. The Black Pearl was leaving both of them behind.
My forgiveness? She wondered, watching Sao Feng's ship shrink away into the distance. Yes. Yes, I have forgiven you, Elizabeth. You weren't to blame, even though I wanted to blame you. I forgive you, Elizabeth Swann. But now I have forgiveness of my own to earn. And it won't be easy.
Squirrel closed her eyes, breathed in deep, and let out a slow, heavy sigh. Then, she reached up and lifted the monkey from her shoulder. She set him down on the railing, ignoring its hurt and confused look. Then she faced the two pirates once more.
"It's a sign of a poor captain," she murmured, so low they could barely hear her, "When he loses the favour of his crew." While she spoke, she looked first to Barbossa, then to Jack, whose gaze she held for a moment, then back to Barbossa. Then she turned away, her cloak swishing about her ankles. "I need a drink." She heard Barbossa start to frame a protest, sensed Jack's confusion, but she didn't care. She walked below, silently, still hiding her thoughts and emotions behind a blank face and veiled eyes.
A drink? If there was any rum left on the ship, then yes, she wanted it. She needed it. Everything was churning inside her - all the grief, all the guilt, all the anger, all the confusion, all the love and all the hate. She couldn't stand the way it was curdling inside her, eating her up. She couldn't stand this numb bitterness. She had to let out these feelings somehow. But who was going to help her? No-one. She was alone. She had no choice.
She'd feel better after a cry, she was certain of that. And getting drunk seemed to be the best option. After all, despite moments of fighting spirit or giggling foolishness, she was a crying drunk. She'd sworn never to get drunk again; she'd never broken a promise before. There was a first time for everything.
But getting drunk wouldn't solve anything, she knew that.
With a heavy sigh, Squirrel leaned her head against the mast-pillar, shrouded by the shadows of the Pearl's wooden hull. Slowly, she raised her fists and beat them against the wood above her head, a futile gesture, a pale shadow of the war raging inside her. I know what has to be done. I know what I have to do. But I can't. I can't do it now. Now that I finally can do it, I can't. She closed her eyes and looked back through the tempest.
Norrington had stolen what she'd been charged to protect. Barbossa had masqueraded in pretence from the very first day he'd met her. Will had coldly shouldered her aside, turning her away despite all she'd given and all she'd done. Sao Feng deceived her, and had laughed cruelly at her plea. And all of Jack's damn secrets and all of Jack's damn lies remained in him. He hadn't changed at all. Each of these men had hurt her, one way or another. And each had left a scar that Squirrel would bear for the rest of her life. The thought made Squirrel's lips twist bitterly. Was there any man she'd met who hadn't hurt her? For a moment, she almost laughed bitterly.
Then she remembered the shine of silver, and gently pulled the compass from her sash.
Head still resting against the pillar, Squirrel stared down at the small gift she'd been given. It was so small, so simple, and somehow it suddenly meant the world to her. The most precious thing she could ever hope to call her own. And yet the giver of such a gift was lost. Gone forever.
Séamus Flynn, she thought, closing her fingers around the compass and pressing it to her lips, Sam… Where are you?
"Deh world's not so large dat t'ings lost won't e'er be seen again. Sometimes, all dat needs be is a means to fin' one's weey before you fin' dem again."
Squirrel opened her eyes and lifted her head. Tia stood before her in the shadows, face sober and eyes deep and fathomless. Squirrel didn't realise it, but she still showed nothing on her face, nothing in her eyes. She let the compass drop, and it swung pendulum-like from her belt.
"Tia Dalma," Squirrel said evenly, pushing away from the pillar, and making a small ironic bow. "You'll have to forgive me, madam, but I…" She shook her head a moment, gathering her thoughts. "You're Davy Jones' woman. I don't feel comfortable around you." She was determined, now more than ever, to keep her distance from this woman. If what the storm inside Squirrel showed was true, then Squirrel's life was in danger when she was around Tia Dalma.
Tia tilted her head to the side. "You blame me? For all dat happened?" She seemed curious rather than saddened.
"I'm done blaming people," Squirrel said softly. "I'm no-one's judge anymore. Not with the punishments I deserve. After all, I've my own share of mistakes and sins to atone for." She made to move past the woman, to descend further into the hold in the search of hard liquor. But Tia put up a hand, stopping her.
"Miss Greeh…" She sighed. "What you must know about Davy Jones an' I… P'raps I do deserve blame." Tia's voice cracked slightly. "I love him. I did, an' I do still."
"I know." Squirrel said, looking away into the darkness. "I know. But I told you, Tia. I don't blame you."
"Aye," Tia breathed, like a sorrowful sea breeze, "Love can be is own punishment." She brushed her fingers over the golden locket at her throat.
Squirrel looked at the woman, but didn't speak. Love can be a punishment? No. I don't think so. Love is many things, but it's not a punishment. Guilt… Now, that is a punishment. Squirrel sighed, and found her hand straying to the compass once again. Seized by an impulse, Squirrel turned back to look the woman in the eye, her lips framing a question built on frail hope, on the memory of a man's smile. But at the last moment, her courage failed her. She let the compass fall once more from her fingers.
"Tia," she asked instead, "That locket you wear… Where does the song come from?"
The woman stood still a moment, then opened the locket. The slow, sad notes of the lullaby began to play, weaving between the two women gently.
"Is a song of deh sea," Tia whispered. "Is words are long forgot, an' far beyond deh reach of mortal men."
Squirrel closed her eyes and listened. The notes seemed to pierce the maelstrom that raged inside her. The images of hurt and betrayal and pain and tragedy were amplified, but Squirrel's eyes remained dry. There was pain in the song, yes. Such longing and sadness. But it was like Pandora's box - hope still remained within it.
"There's never been a compass true," Squirrel sang, "As my heart, which turns to you. And though the tide takes me away, I'll come for you someday."
Tia closed the locket slowly, smothering the song, and looked curiously at Squirrel.
"I heard the song in a dream," Squirrel explained, the night rising up in her memory for a moment. "The words just seemed to fall into place."
Tia stared a moment longer, then slowly nodded. "Keep it, den, Miss Greeh. If deh song 'as foun' you, den you can keep it." She looked at Squirrel one last time, eyes just as deep and unreadable as ever. "You, too, know what it mean to love wit' all dat you are, and to hate jus' deh same." Squirrel nodded thoughtfully. After a moment in silence, the two women parted, heading in opposite directions.
Squirrel's path took her deeper below, into the shadows and darkness. There was always rum on the Pearl, even if it was deep in the hold, hidden from sight. Squirrel had been the quartermaster, after all. She knew where everything was. Even Jack's hidden stash, which she had always tactfully kept from her notes. If there was rum to be found, then she would find it.
And then she could drink away the pain and cry out the emotions bottled inside her.
She descended, further and further. She passed the pens, past the hammocks of the crewmen, down past the ammonia stink of animal piss, and still further. The stairs took her deeper and deeper, and she couldn't help but remember taking such a path on the Diana. Night after night, slipping away to go down to the hold. This was different, somehow, but still exactly the same.
Squirrel stepped down, the final step, and looked around. Somewhere down here was a bottle or two, for certain. Not enough to get her drunk, given how she'd been able to build up her tolerance for the stuff, but it would do. She began to head towards the barrels and crates, intending to search them all, when a slow movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention.
The door was open.
Squirrel looked at it, curious and somewhat suspicious. The door led to a section of the hold none but Jack himself had the keys for. He was always so fastidious about that fact. No-one but he, and he kept the keys with him, or in his cabin, at all times. He didn't trust anyone else with them. So why would the door be open, if Jack always kept it locked?
Ease of access, Squirrel thought in a moment of sardonic ill-humour. One hundred days in the Locker, all by himself? He wasn't about to keep locking and unlocking that door. She moved towards it, thinking to find what she sought inside.
But as soon as she opened the door, she halted, and stared.
The maelstrom still curdled inside her, memories still raged and feelings still battled for control. But it was though Squirrel had found a means to curb and control such a storm, to turn it to a far better purpose. All that had transpired, good or bad, had happened for a reason. The damage, the pain, the betrayal couldn't be undone. But certainly, Squirrel knew, that there was still a chance to make things right. And, perhaps, her choice wouldn't be so hard to make after all.
This was better than rum. Much better.
Squirrel picked the keys off the nail from where they were hanging, studied them a moment, then let her lips curve into a sad and bitter smile.
A/N: Foreshadows! Also, dun-dun-dun!
I just happened to hear MCR's Famous Last Words on the plane coming home from Canada. I think it fits nicely how the next couple of chapters will feel. I'm not a fan of My Chemical Romance, but hey.
I can has reviews please?
