Note: Allison Paxton's story was originally part of its own oneshot and a concept I've been wanting to do right from the start. What Aiden does has to have consequences, even if he's usually too much of a hypocrite to acknowledge it.

Also note: Poppy's reasoning is a bit skewed.

Warning: Deals with some unpleasant things and it causes some emotional whiplashing. Life can be cruel like that.


[summary: Poppy is forced to serve as bait.]

_Nightcall: Bad Faith


"What's up?"

"… can you come?"

"Something wrong?"

"You could say that."

"On my way."


Fear was a curious emotion, she had spent nearly a year with it until she had barely noticed it was there anymore. The human mind made its arrangements with such things and even found a kind of peace with its ultimate fate. She had had convinced herself that part of her life was done, when the cops came and Quinn's auction blew up in his face. When the cops offered her to clear her record if she worked for them.

That wasn't to say her life was never in danger or that it slipped her control every so often. No one, ever, was always in control and trying to achieve it was a sure way to drive yourself mad. But she'd had it covered, her life was her own and she used the line like a mantra every time she found herself in a place she didn't want to be.

But perhaps, at the end of it, her confidence was still fragile. The Infinite 92 had done too much damage for it to heal quickly, perhaps it never would and the best she could hope for was scar tissue in her mind.

So she feared. Many things in the world, more than she was willing to admit and she supposed she was in good company with the majority of people on the planet, struggling with their own tragedies. But there was also this, a gun in her face and the concept of fear was less of an abstract, less even than it had been waiting for Crispin and clutching a knife she knew was too short to puncture his heart.

The woman on the other end of the gun watched her with wary attention. She'd waited for Donna outside her apartment and jumped her, overpowered her so smoothly and quickly, Donna suspected the woman had some training. She'd dragged her into her home and forced her down on her couch before Donna even knew what was happening.

She'd thrust Donna's phone into her face alongside her gun, yelled at her to call the vigilante and since sat glowering across from Donna, gun loosely in her hand, but her body retained too much tension for Donna to risk anything. This woman knew what she was doing, or at least she thought she did.

"Why…?" Donna began, but her voice had gone too faint. She cleared her throat and the woman startled, gave her a warning look.

"What do you want?" Donna asked.

The woman said nothing, just stared at Donna for the longest time, then looked down at her gun for just as long, it seemed almost as if she was surprised to see it there.

"I was a soldier," the woman said. "I was at war. Afghanistan. It's hard to say I liked it, because that makes me sound like I'm crazy, but it's ironic, I think, because it turns out that's not where the danger was. I came back home and I met the most perfect man you can imagine..."

She was barely speaking to Donna, more to herself and her narrative didn't need to make sense to anyone else. While she spoke, her gaze wandered away from Donna, only to snap back at the slightest movement.

She frowned. "So, what are you?" she asked, dropping her story and with it, any hint of warmth was gone from her voice. Instead, it was laced with contempt.

"I don't know what you want with me," Donna said tonelessly.

"Your friend, he took something from me and I don't think he even knows," the woman said. "Or cares. Because I learned that, too. In the war. Sometimes people snap, they go mad with bloodlust."

"My friend," Donna echoed. "Pearce?"

"He's a hard man to keep up with. You're much easier to follow."

She put her head to the side and her expression softened for no more than a second. "I'm sorry I had to involve you, but I can't find him, so I think it's prudent I make him come to me instead."

Donna considered, she forced herself to look away from the gun and into the woman's eyes instead. "You met the most perfect man… and?" she prompted so gently, the woman didn't seem to realise it.

"We married. I left the army and I opened a gym. Taught self-defence. Still do, but I don't have the time anymore. No, it's more like, why should I even bother? It's weird, I can't work up the energy for these people and their weaknesses. I remember it mattered, but… now it's hard to think sometimes."

She had only switched on one light and it was off to the side, not enough to see her clearly unless she turned her head toward it. The light outlined her poise on Donna's kitchen chair, the way she held the gun. A soldier, she'd said, it made sense, but her story was still disjointed and she didn't seem to care to make it more coherent.

"You look tired," Donna said and the woman gave a hard smile.

"It's tough work. I can't sleep anyway," she said and shrugged. "Might as well be roaming the streets, you never know who you'll stumble across, after all. I got lucky, you know. I spotted you the other night outside the Indigo State and I recognised you."

"From where?"

"The news. You were in a picture with a few cops and other whores. I did some digging and once I had a name, all I needed was a favour from a friend at the DMV. Could've been easier, but I'm no hacker, ctOS doesn't play so nice with me."

Donna shifted in her seat, trying to relax cramped muscles, but it didn't do much good. Her position wasn't her problem. Being held at gunpoint in her own home was.

"You'd better know what you're doing," she said. "Because I really don't. What's going to happen? Pearce shows up, you kill him and then what? You go back to your perfect husband and your perfect gym?"

The woman smiled again, unpleasantly. "You think it's the first time I've killed?"

"I think it's the first time like this," Donna said.

"Of course you know what you're talking about," the woman sneered.

Despite herself, Donna felt her thoughts wander. She was trying to talk the woman out of whatever it was she wanted to do, without even knowing what had prompted it, but the direction of her own words brought bitter memories of her own and she wasn't sure she could face it. She'd take the gun over it any day.

"I don't have to explain myself to you," Donna said. "You broke into my house, you punched me in the face and you're holding a gun to it now."

"It's not personal," the woman said dismissively.

"Well, fuck it," Donna hissed with a quick surge of vitriol. "My home, my face. If that's not personal, I don't know what is."

"Pick your friends better next time," the woman said. "He isn't exactly rushing to your rescue, either."

Donna kept her gaze fixed on her, roused by her own memories and so vastly out of patience with being told what to do, she said, "Good question, isn't it? What if you got everything wrong and Pearce doesn't show. What happens to me? Will you murder me in cold blood?"

"Collateral damage, it can't always be avoided."

"So that's a yes," Donna said, edged forward in her seat. "You'll kill me. Tell me why I should sit still for that."

The woman immediately tensed, straightened and raised the gun from it's more casual angle. "Don't do anything stupid," she warned.

Donna kept pushing herself forward. The entire length of the room was between them, a couch table and in a straight line, she'd tangle with a stool, too, before she was even close to the woman. More than enough time to fire that gun, even for someone untrained. But Donna decided she had started on the course, she had to finish it now, had to push until something gave.

"What do I have to lose?" Donna asked through clenched teeth. Her heart was trying to beat itself out of her chest. "You'll kill me anyway."

"Sit back down," the woman ordered, but Donna folded her fingers around the arm of the couch, for whatever additional leverage it gave her. She had thrown away any element of surprise and she was done being patient with this madwoman. She'd never done submission well, before the Infinite 92 and she'd only learned how to pick her battles, act submissive just to stay unhurt. It'd never been the real thing and now it was too late to learn the lesson.

And from the moment of stillness, everything happened at the same time. Donna leapt from her seat, launched herself forward with what strength she had. Later, she would realise that there were two shots, from different guns with different bangs and the low hissing of plaster from the side. But in that instant, she only saw the woman's gun and the spark at its muzzle as it fired. Her foot snagged on the stool and she ignored it, kept going for the woman, who threw herself down and kicked at Donna.

The gun fell from her bloodied hand and Donna wasted no time wondering why there would be blood at all. The woman tangled her legs with Donna's and twisted, tore her from her already precarious balance and made her fall face first into the carpet. Desperately, Donna groped for the woman's gun because it was the only thing that would tip this fight in her favour. She didn't get very far. An elbow came down on her neck and Donna felt herself slump, momentarily disoriented and her body going limp.

She heard something shatter behind her and before she'd blinked her vision clear, a hand settled on her shoulder and yanked her up and across the floor, out of the way. Blindly, she struggled against the grip, but it was gone again immediately and it left her sitting on the floor in the pieces of the stool that had broken her stride before.

Aiden Pearce ignored her, bore down on her hostage-taker before the woman had fully recovered. It was a short struggle, both of them moving fast and precise, but the woman had all the disadvantages, already downed and wounded as she was. Donna saw the solid length of the baton, crashing in quick succession, into the woman's leg and then the side of her neck.

Pearce stepped clear of her and she crumpled to the ground. He picked up her gun before he stepped away and finally looked down at Donna with an almost thoughtful expression. He picked her up and half-carried her back to the couch.

She slipped down on it and things slowly began to register.

"Sorry about the wall," he said. "And the door."

He returned to the woman, pulled something from his pocket which Donna somewhat belatedly recognised as zip-ties.

Looking away from him, she saw the torn hole in the wall, roughly on level with where the woman's arm had been before. The lock on her door was kicked in, the door hanging ajar. The hallway beyond was in darkness, but it could only be a few more moments before her neighbours appeared.

"Anytime," she said.

Out of nowhere, the pain hit, throbbing in her head and her torso felt as if it was on fire. It took her a long moment to even place the pain. Slowly, she reached around and felt along the edges of her torn shirt, for the wound in her side. Blood had soaked into her shirt.

"I've been shot," she said quietly.

Pearce glanced at the door and hesitated before he walked over to her. He sat down at the edge of the couch, his coat spilled down the side, long enough to touch the floor.

"Let me see," he said, pulled the scarf from his face.

She raised her arm and hissed at the pain the movement caused. She reached for the shirt with her other hand, eyes carefully trained on some spot in midair in front of her. It didn't hurt bad enough, she told herself, and it was hardly the first time she had seen blood, even her own. Perhaps credibility with CPD had mellowed her. She sighed with relief when Pearce took over, carefully but firmly pushed the shirt aside after using a tip of it to wipe the blood away. She felt a new sting when he placed gloved fingers at the side of the wound to get a better look.

"Grazing shot, mostly cauterised itself," he said after a moment. "Let a doctor look at it."

She didn't dare lower her arm, she didn't want to agitate the wound, so she dropped the arm along the back of the couch.

"Next time," Pearce said. "Don't force a confrontation."

"Waiting for rescue can take a too long," she stated coldly, pulling a face and pulling herself back into a sitting position. "How did you know when to shoot?"

"Camera from the building across the street," he said and she could've sworn he smirked when her gaze automatically searched in the comparative darkness beyond her windows. She couldn't see anything out there.

"And I was listening in with the mic on your laptop," he added.

She looked at the laptop, too, then back at him. In retrospect, she blamed the adrenaline, but perhaps it was something else entirely, something the woman had stirred up when she challenged her. Of course it would have been the smarter choice to sit tight and wait for rescue, but there had been one time in her life when she hadn't fought when she should have.

Or it was the adrenaline, but Pearce looked good this close and he hadn't moved away yet. Serious. Trustworthy. In the end, she supposed, there were worse reasons than trust. Pain pulled on her skin as she put her hand on his neck and the most surprising thing, in the end, was that she managed to surprise him at all, tightened her grip on him and leaned in, kissed him with all she had, because she was certain it would only be a moment…

His lips were dry under hers, slightly cracked, parted when she took him unaware and he didn't respond at all, just let himself be kissed in unexpected, counterpoint passivity, but she didn't remember how to stop, just coaxed and at least he was alive and warm and then he did kiss back, aggressive enough to match her sudden hunger. She felt the tendons in his neck strain under her fingers, but she couldn't tell if he fought with leaning away or into it.

The edge of his cap scratched the side of her head and it seemed to be the incentive for him to pull back. She didn't want to let go, sucked his tongue back into her mouth and followed him back, despite the new tear in her side. He settled a hand on her arm, held her and finally freed himself from her, but he was still too close, easy to reach if it didn't hurt so much. She couldn't read in his face, couldn't tell what there was in his eyes, but she knew she wanted more of it.

The light in the hallway turned on, closely followed by cautious footsteps outside. Her door was given a faint shove, just enough to make it open a few inches more. Pearce tensed away from her, turned so his back was fully to the door. Donna forced her head back up and hoped she had her facial expression back under control.

"Ms. Dean?" a male voice inquired.

"I'm all right!" she announced. "Just… a little trouble."

Her neighbour edged a little further into the room, but not enough to spot the bound woman or to get a good look at Pearce. His attention was fixed on Donna anyway.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Like I said…occupational hazard," she waved with her arm vaguely. "You know I work for the cops, right? They'll be here any minute, it's under control."

"… yes?" he asked. His gaze flitted around, rested on Pearce for a moment. "Do you need any help?"

"I already have help," Donna said, forced a reassuring smile. "It's fine, really. Cops will take your statement, don't go back to bed immediately."

"Okay, Ms. Dean," he nodded. "I'll be just down the hall."

He withdrew, she heard him talk to somebody else, some other neighbour in the hallway, but no one appeared at her door again.

She took a deep breath, still tasting him on her lips. "You…" she started, unsure herself of what she would say next, but she could already tell he was going to leave. She didn't think he liked surprises much, even this kind of surprise.

A frown had settled on his face and he straightened the cap. "We really should call the cops," he said and she wasn't sure if he was affected by what she had done at all. "Will you be okay?"

"Sure," she said, chewing on her lower lip. The woman was stirring back to consciousness slowly, but she wouldn't be back in fighting condition any time soon. "What should I say?"

"She's got a history of psychological issues," he shrugged and got up from the couch. "It's easy to discredit most of what she says. I was here, I helped, because the vigilante does that. Other than that, you don't know me. Should work out."

She pressed her arm to her side carefully, but couldn't quite decide if it made the pain better or worse. She listened to his 911 call. She watched as he went back to the woman to check her bounds and got spit in the face for his trouble.

They waited in heavy silence, together and strangely apart, until Pearce's phone told him a police cruiser had just stopped outside her apartment and he left with just a quick nod in her direction.

She didn't know what she should have said, either.


"Yes?"

"I thought you wanted to know about Allison Paxton? Unless you already do, of course."

"She's 41 years old, divorced, her gym is facing foreclosure. She was in Afghanistan and honourably discharged five years ago. How is she doing?"

"Depends, but I'd say not so good. She's obsessed with you. She'll stay in custody for now. Whether she'll face hospitalisation or prison, I don't know."

"You had any trouble?"

"Not really, but the vigilante saving me better not become a habit."

"This one's my fault anyway."

"She claimed we were in league, but she can't prove anything and she's not calm enough to make people listen to her. I feel a little sorry for her, even though I still want to punch her. I didn't get a good look at her file, I don't have that kind of authority, but people tell me things."

"I have a little more, if you want."

"Yes, she invaded my home, after all, might as well know why… So, uhm, Pearce…"

"Call me Aiden."

"Aiden, well, that makes things much better… I really don't know how to say this, so I'll just forgo any eloquence. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come on to you like that. That was pretty embarrassing and I don't know, I probably made you feel uncomfortable. I don't even know you that well. Maybe you have a girlfriend or a boyfriend or you just don't do this sort of thing. I shouldn't have… just… I should've… Dammit, say something."

"None of those."

"What?"

"No girlfriend, no boyfriend, no abstinence. I just lead a very strange life, Donna."

"I really am sorry. That was clumsy. I must have gone rusty in the Infinite 92. Not like I have to do a lot of flirting in that place. Everyone knew why they were there, after all. I guess I just don't remember what it's like out here in the real world. It's been a long time since I had the freedom to, well, to make my own choices."

"I'm flattered."

"I still put my foot in my mouth. And it irks me, because I can't take it back and because I'm afraid it's going to change things between us. I don't even know if there's anything between us in the first place, but I'm so very grateful that you wanted to trust me and gave him that job. I can imagine… I doubt trust comes easy to you. It doesn't for me, not anymore. But what you do? I agree with what I've seen and if I can help more, I want to. But… I didn't need to make things more complicated."

"We do work well together."

"So… what's changed now? Will I live it down?"

"Don't worry, it's the fight, it gets to you sometimes. And I should apologise, too."

"How is that?"

"Because I can't be sure of your reasoning. I don't really know what happened to you at the Infinite 92, but I don't want you to feel obliged to me in any way. Certainly not that way."

"That's what you think?"

"It's a possibility. I don't want to use you."

"Other than for planting those bugs?"

"I asked, you agreed. Besides, you told me you wanted to help and it was a good match. Just business."

"And you think kissing could be just business for me?"

"Wasn't it?"

"I don't think you have the right to have an opinion on that. Maybe… maybe we should both not second-guess each other. And this conversation? It's just making things worse. I can't take back what happened, I can't take back what I've said, either. I don't need anyone to judge me, not even you. And if that's going to be a problem, I'd rather know it straightaway."

"Donna…"

"Say it."

"I'm going to send you what I have on Allison Paxton."

"What does she have to do with it?"

"I know much more about you than you know about me. If you still want to… after this… I'd like to invite you to dinner."


To: Donna Dean

From: AP

Message: I don't really remember the event, only ctos does.

Attachment: ctos_p_recording_flagged_vigilante_a_paxton

"… vigilante has to die."

"You sound so serious."

"He killed them! He killed my babies! And he probably doesn't even know or care or… I dunno. Look, I saw him. I was stuck in the car, but he was there, the cops had him cornered after the steam pipe blew out. Everything was chaos, but I've been to war, I don't lose my head like that. I know what I saw."

"I didn't doubt what you saw, Allison, I know what kind of soldier you are. But are you sure? It sounds like an accident. Steam pipes blow sometimes."

"Yes, maybe. Good timing, though, that took out two cop cruisers. Besides, I wasn't close enough to the pipe. We were all still alive at that point. We only crashed and the twins were crying, but I can tell, they weren't hurt, just scared. I know the sounds they make… Fuck."

"I don't know what to say. I'm so sorry. And all the sorries in the world won't change a thing."

"Yeah, they won't. But he will be sorry when I'm through with him."

"But…"

"Because we were stuck, cars boxed us in from three side and the cops were going past on the other side, trying to cut off his escape and you know what he fucking did? He jumped on the roof of a car and fired at us. Looked like a grenade launcher to me, but there was steam everywhere, not sure with kind. He was aiming for the police and he hit a cruiser perfectly. You never heard just how loud it is when a whole car blows up. Deafens you when you're so close. You get that ringing in your ear and it sometimes doesn't go away for days. We were thrown around in the shockwave… and… fire everywhere and shards from the blown-up up car were flying everywhere… there was fire and smoke and… my babies were suddenly silent. So don't you dare tell me it wasn't his fault. It was. He fired a grenade in the midst of all that to save his own skin, so he didn't have stand fucking trial for his crimes."

"Do you know even know what you're saying? You can't just take the law in your own hands. That's the mistake he made. That's what caused all of this. You're just making everything so much worse."

"The authorities can't touch him. Everytime they try something like this happens. I can't be the first person who lost someone… everything… in all this bullshit. He's dangerous and I've seen that, too, you know. Sometimes people just snap. You give them a gun and tell them to become an accomplished killer and when they do, you give them a medal. And then they kill and sometimes they forget how to stop. It's a fucking power-trip and not everyone can or wants to get down from it. And that's him, I swear. Standing on that car? Like he was out of some hero-worship movie? This guy's tripping hard."

"Perhaps it's more complicated than that."

"What sort of bullshit argument is that even?!"

"Probably the truth. Allison, please, listen. Think for a moment. You lost so much. How much more does it have to be? Who will you hurt, trying to catch him?"

"I'll be careful, not like him."

"How will you even find him?"

"I don't know yet. But I'll find a way. There's nothing else left I can do."

"Yes, there is. Let it go. We are all here to help, if you'd let us."

"No… but… thank you, but I can't. I'm sorry, but I can't."

"Allison, please…"

"I'm going to hang up now. I'm so sorry. I can't… Bye, Dad."

"Allison? Damn, girl, don't do this, don't…"


End of _Nightcall: Bad Faith


Revised on 05/June/2015