XL: Under Cover of Darkness

"Why am I not surprised to find you here?"

The sudden statement startled Tiny awake. His foggy brain cleared for a moment to focus on the asker. Lording over him was Sheriff Wendeval. Narrowed eyes and a tapping foot expressed his impatience and displeasure.

"Boss."

"Mr. Guerrero." The chief law officer glared down from above. "Care to explain how you ended up in the middle of an active crime scene?"

Tiny tried to sit up. His body instead slid further down the supporting pillar. The tension in his side increased, discouraging him from trying again. He was able to move his shackled legs over to the side to relieve the pressure on his hip.

"I've been shot." He remembered.

Another guffawed. "We noticed. You're leaking all over the place."

Beside the sheriff was his bag man with a badge. The buck-toothed deputy kicked a small rock into a gooey puddle. The source of the thick liquid appeared to be Tiny's torso. An unexpected tart taste made his mouth bone dry.

"Keep a lid on it." Wendeval directed to Drwg before returning to Tiny. "What happened?"

"I want a lawyer."

Those were the words that Mead had coached him to say whenever he was caught by the authorities. Tiny had never needed them before tonight. Now was different. He understood the trouble he was in.

"Lawyer?" Mal snorted. "Where do you think you are?"

"What Deputy Drwg is trying to say is that we're all friends here." The sheriff glared at his unfazed employee for his disobedience. "If you help us, we can take care of this."

The former boxer thought for a moment before relenting. It was not like the situation could get any worse. Spending a few years in jail beat bleeding out in the middle of the town square. If he played his cards perfectly, maybe one of his bosses could make this all go away.

"Some friends of a friend of mine were after a huntsman who crossed them."

"Huntsman? Do you mean Qrow Branwen?"

"Yeah." Tiny did not question how he made that connection. "Brought him out here to… talk. Things went sour. The deputy with the hat shot me."

There was no sense in admitting anything about the ambush. They might be able to play this off as a mistake. Tiny had not been given a chance to try anything. He was hit before he could get a single shot off.

The sheriff pulled at his mustache. "How did you get him out here at this time of night?"

"He's at the Inn and Out with his family. Room 239. Left a letter."

The two law officers shared a quick glance. "Describe them for me."

He racked his brain for the deets. "A man with a little girl that looks like Branwen. Figured they were his husband and kid."

"Interesting. Do you know where Deputy Roscoe is now?"

"Walked to the motorcycle." He bobbed over at the bulky machine. "Did something behind it and then shackled me up. I think I passed out after that."

On cue, his legs started to cramp. He had forgotten his uncomfortable position until he had retold that part of the story. The restraints prevented him from being able to move. Pulsing sensations in his thighs were almost unbearable. He hoped that the sheriff would be done soon.

"Drwg. Check the Dillo's trunk for presents."

"With pleasure." The man sneered as he jogged to the vehicle.

"To recap, she shot you and the bald woman, whom I am guessing was one of your 'friends of a friend'?" Tiny nodded at the description of Kahlua. "And then she and the rogue huntsman wandered off. Alright, I can weave a tale around that."

Tiny withheld information on Delia's part in the events. If he had learned anything from watching her and Branwen tussle, it was to not cross people like her. There was also the possibility she had taken out her targets and gotten away.

That would make his legal defense easy. His word versus two cadavers. Who was to say that the heat of the moment did not get the better of everyone involved?

"How is she?" He asked, meaning the grifter.

"Plugged thrice, center mass." Wendeval thumbed his chest. "Dead within seconds."

"Thought so."

He vaguely remembered the other deputy firing off into the void after hitting him. Kahlua had been hiding in that direction. She had probably tried to sneak up and got caught. Tiny felt bad about her death. Mead would be devastated.

"I knew you were up to no good when you called me for guns. You are a terrible liar." Wendeval looked off into the distance. "I had hoped you would be discreet with whatever you were doing. I see that was misguided."

"Didn't go the way we thought."

"Evidently." The older man rubbed his chin. "I, for one, would not have shed a tear if you had succeeded. Branwen is a rabid dog someone should have put down years ago."

The bruiser nodded along. Now that he was more awake, he was keenly glancing around the outdoor environment. Surprisingly, there was no one else around but them. Tiny began to wonder when medics would arrive to mend him.

"But now you have gone and put me in an awkward position. For the second time in as many weeks, mind you."

Hazy images flashed in Tiny's mind. His truck stuck on a muddy road. Creatures of Grimm trapping him. A bear with sharp claws appearing out of nowhere to kill the shadowy monsters. The crushing terror when the grizzly turned to him.

One scene in particular stuck. Rage taking over, his hands wrapped around the throat of the bear. Surprise from the small beast turned to panic. Tiny squeezed as hard as he could until it stopped moving. The claws became pointed sticks that fell from limp hands.

And afterwards was the sheriff again. Similar as to now, he stood on high. Judging what had been done.

"Found it!" The lap dog interrupted as he came jogging up with a plastic bag in hand. "Right where you thought, too. She even signed and dated it!"

The sheriff chuckled. "Always so dutiful."

Wendeval took the baggie. He tore at the seal until it split down the middle. His hand disappeared into the pouch and returned with a metal object. Tiny had to struggle to recognize that it was the gun that shot him.

"Also found these." Mal held up two other bags containing guns. The large mass of them gave away they were his and Kahlua's. "Looks like these are from our stash."

"Yes. I trust you can make those disappear." Wendeval did not wait for a reply before looking back to Tiny. "That's two accounted for. I also lent you a rifle. Where is it?"

"Dunno."

"You lost it?"

"Think so."

He could only remember the female deputy wielding it earlier in the day. If she had not brought the weapon with her, then he could only guess where it had ended up. Wendeval hated when Tiny guessed, so he kept his mouth shut.

"Wonderful. Another mess to clean up."

"I also went ahead and disabled the SOS." Mal brought out a vibrating black Scroll. "No need to thank me."

The sheriff's brow lifted. "Who is it?"

"Oh, just Commander Bimbo." He laughed as he touched the screen to cancel the call. "It's been going off for a while. Twenty or so missed calls. Hoebag won't take a hint."

"She must have seen the emergency beacon. We need to wrap this up. Go tell the good doctor that he can begin his work."

"Yeah yeah. Keep your shirt on."

Mal turned heel and ran off into the night. This left Wendeval and Tiny alone again. The sheriff was still inspecting the gun in his hands.

"Disrespectful gnat." He huffed while sliding out the magazine to check the ammo. "Drwg really has no sense of propriety. That is what I always liked about you Mr. Guerrero. You at least tried to stay deferential to authority."

"Yes boss."

Tiny was not sure he understood what Wendeval was talking about. The heavy did not respect any lawmen, especially crooked ones. He just knew better than to express those thoughts. Slighted employers did not pay as well.

First get your money. That was the line Mead always pushed as a fixer. You can smack talk later while cashing the check.

"That's what makes this so difficult for me." He replaced the magazine before cocking the gun and pointing it at Tiny. "Your services are no longer needed. Goodbye Mr. Guerrero."

Sheriff Wendeval pulled the trigger.

〇-〇-〇

Cordelia looked like she was sleeping.

Her slack face and closed eyes gave the false impression. Having awoken beside her several times in his teenage years, Qrow thought he could be forgiven for thinking nothing was amiss. Being this close reminded him of those days. Back when they had been so much closer.

Of course, that was a facade. An existence of his own construction. Blood speckled lips and a punctured torso told the truth. His stab had struck true. If the piercing had not done her in, the sudden removal had finished the task.

But he wanted so desperately to believe the lie. He cast his eyes away from Last Chancery's scarlet coating. Blocked out how the liquid dripped onto her weapon that lay beneath the humongous blade.

Idiotic ideas bounced in his skull. Acting on them, he pressed his forehead to hers. Just like at the Vytal Festival dance. He waited for something to happen. Anything. Even if it was her getting majorly pissed at the invasion of her personal space.

He held on to hope as long as he could. A warm hand on his shoulder got his heart beating. Unfortunately, it belonged to the other living person in the room.

"Just… just give me a moment. I-I need quiet. I need-"

The huntsman did not know what he needed. To grieve? That did not seem right. He had tried everything he could to reach out to the one in his arms. She had consistently kicked that helping hand away.

Worse than that. She tried to kill him. Maybe he could have let that go, but then she went after someone who had nothing to do with their problems. That was the last straw. That was when he finally finished the fight. What had been holding him back finally gave way to this current reality.

His old schoolmate had left many questions. Had she also been holding back? Those punches had been real enough, but she never once used her Semblance on him. Maybe she wanted it to end this way. A suicide by huntsman.

What about her son and the organization she was working for? Had any of that been real? Or was it all an act to take him off his game?

Cordie was not going to answer.

Qrow hooked his arm under her legs to lift her up before moving further into the bakery. There was no way he was going to lay her on the dirty floor. Though Delia did not deserve the compassion, the woman she used to be did.

The throbbing in his leg from the additional weight made every step feel like his last. Thankfully, the distance was not too great. He nearly collapsed as he laid her upon the steel counter.

Her crimson mane spread out on the tabletop. Qrow ran his fingers through the ruddy river to untangle the strands. Her jacket was riding up to her navel. Beneath was a rough fabric wrapped around her waist containing munitions, presumably for her rifle. He pulled the clothing down to conceal it.

Crossing her arms over her chest, he lingered with his hand over hers. Satisfied that she was now presentable, he backed away. Words of goodbye caught in his throat. It took every fiber of his being to turn away.

Roscoe stood apart, near where he had left her. She was either afraid to follow or wanted to give him space. He went to her, all the while trying to recompose himself. Back to business for now. He could fall apart on his own time.

"I usually don't get so emotional after I kill someone." He wiped at his face. "Sorry about that."

"I can't imagine what-"

"Then don't." He took a second to settle down. "There is nothing left to be said. We should focus on what comes next."

"Alright." She began slowly. "I'm not as used to these 'running for my life' situations as you are. What do you usually do next for an encore?"

He appreciated the attempt at levity. "Well, this is generally the part where I take off and let the locals clean up the mess."

The warzone that had been made out of the Taste of Relay was a sight to behold. An impressive amount of broken furniture, crystalline shards, and bodily fluids sullied the once pristine flooring. There was also the scene they had left around the clock tower. The damage to the plaza alone would cost oodles of lien to repair.

Roscoe stared at him. "Are you leaving?"

"Do you really want me in charge of the damage assessment?" Roscoe intensified the glare. "You've seen that my skills lie elsewhere. You don't need me hanging around when there is more to be done."

"Point taken." She wearily replied with the gusto of a substitute teacher. "I'm going to need a written statement from you though."

"Right." Scribbling a few lines on the back of a cocktail napkin was in his wheelhouse.

Regardless of format, the recounting would be brief and stick to what had happened. There was very little outside of the events of the night that he wanted entered into the official record. He did not need any more of his personal life going into a dossier.

"What are you going to be doing with these 'skills' of yours?"

Qrow ignored the sass. "Gathering information."

He needed to do some digging. Figure out what was going on. Rattle a few skulls if he had to. Boy, did he want to. Between a few choice locals and the Xiong family, there were a lot of potential heads to bash in.

"It will be easier to cover for you if I know what I am covering."

"Fine." He complied. "My first stop will be tracking down Kahlua. I know I can't prove it, but I'm pretty certain her posse were the ones who left me the message back at the hotel."

Finding his female doppelganger would be the most efficient use of his time. He needed to talk with her anyway about the Atlas depot robbery. There had to be a link between everything that had happened. There were too many coincidences.

"That might be difficult."

"Why's that?"

"She's dead." She sighed. "I killed her."

The admission threw Qrow for a loop. Many thoughts and feelings fluttered around. The biggest was confusion.

"...When?"

"Her and Tiny were in the plaza. After you left, they approached me with guns and stood in the way. I had to shoot them. Injured the big guy and left him cuffed near the Dillo. Kahlua wasn't as lucky."

"Huh." He was too tired to muster up the will needed to curse at the situation. "Well, I'll have to improvise."

Proving his innocence in Vale was going to be much more difficult. Having Kahlua drop the dime on her involvement would have gone a long way towards having his rogue status lifted faster. Tying her up again would have also been cathartic. That had now been denied him.

He was going to have to find another way.

Talking to Tiny was a possibility. This was an idea Qrow quickly nixed. The muscleman did not look like the brains of the operation. Plus, he seemed like one of those tough guys who would not give up anything easily.

Qrow had methods to make those types of men talk. He really wanted to use them. But they took time. Something on short supply. If this Duma could send a huntress after them, what else did they have in their back pockets? Better, he thought, to leave Roscoe and company to sweat him out.

There was another angle. Mead. Roscoe had not mentioned him as among the body count. It was possible he split when his associates were gunned down. Or he had not been in on the action at all. Either way he seemed like someone who could be bargained with, one way or another.

"That is less than reassuring. I've seen your improv skills." She fluttered a grin. "Guess I will have to keep on trusting you."

He tried to return the motion. "Mind letting Tai know not to wait around for me? Won't have time to tell him myself."

"Sure."

The huntsman walked past her and over to his dropped broadsword. Bending to lift it up, he frowned at the stained tip. With the underside of his shirt, he wiped away the gore from his fallen friend. To hide the shame, he tucked the fringe into his pants.

Left behind was the now orphaned blade. Now that he had a chance to look over the implement without being on the business end of a chop, he could admire it. Polished black metal that expanded and contracted from short to long range with a click.

Simple, yet elegant. As seamless a weapon as any he had encountered. Suspiciously so.

Delia had mentioned that the Duma had provided the blade. Perhaps that was something he could follow up on. He was not sure how, but he soaked in as much descriptive detail as he could memorize. Fat chance Roscoe would let him take the evidence with him.

An unspent bullet lay beside the machete. It was identical to the ones in the binding around Delia's belly. He discreetly pocketed the item as he straightened up. The deputy would not miss a single round for his own investigation.

That very woman joined him again near the entrance. They both faced the blown-out windows. Neither wanted to glance back at the carnage behind them.

"How are you?" Qrow asked suddenly, aware that the deputy had been through a ringer all on her own. "Shooting another person could not have been easy."

To normal people anyway. Those that allowed themselves to become numb to killing began seeing the action as a means to an end. Taking lives could easily become the solution to every problem. Those that did were little different from the Grimm.

"You said we should focus on what's next."

"I've been taught how to compartmentalize these kinds of things." He lied through his teeth. "I doubt you were. You are no good to me if you fall apart."

"I don't know." She admitted with a shuddering breath. "Still processing."

"It's going to hit you like a ton of bricks. Just remember. She did not give you a choice."

He was not sure if the advice was for her or for him. If Roscoe noticed, she left it uncommented upon. Instead, she hummed her agreement.

After exhausting what needed to be discussed, they stood side by side a little longer. A chiming bell indicated the hour had expired. Qrow could have stayed another. At last, he decided to go. The evening was still young for him.

Climbing through the shattered opening, his feet touched slippery concrete. So too did the cutting end of his blade. Digging his heels in, he chose his first destination. His first house call lay in Tocsin.

"Be careful out there."

Qrow made the mistake of looking back at his deputy. Cordelia's final repose in the backdrop seared into his mind. He might have been leaving the town momentarily, but he was not done with Relay yet. Not by a longshot.

"No promises."

〇-〇-〇

"Do you have to sound so ominous?" Cyan muttered as she watched Qrow leave.

His shoulders hunched as he disappeared around the side of the shop. The heavy sword balanced upon them. He was hurting. There was no doubt in her mind.

Both of their nerves were frayed after everything that had happened. That last pulse of action had been a push too far for him. As they had talked, he oscillated between immense sadness and rage.

As much as she wanted to meddle, she bit down on the urge to comfort. It was hard to offer support when she did not know the whole truth about Delia. He needed to sort things out for himself.

The deputy sucked in a large quantity of air and expelled. She needed to focus on what she could control. Pushing the front door open, she exited the bakery. She could have left through the broken window, but it did not feel proper. Too disrespectful.

Knowing that the people after them had been stopped did not decrease her anxiety. She found herself checking every corner and shadow as she crossed the street. Once through the threshold of the Sheriff's Office, there was an odd expectation that another bullet would be coming her way.

After she had assured herself that this was not the case, she made her way into the lobby. Cyan made a beeline for the receptionist's desk. An emergency Scroll had been mandated to be maintained in the front of the building. Opening a few drawers allowed her to find the device inside a static proof case.

Turning it on revealed that it was low on power. The senior deputy grimaced. Maintenance should have implied that it be kept charged. Rifling through the desk further did not help her locate a power cord, so she would need to be deliberate with who she called.

Cyan considered phoning the Tocsin Commander so she could see a friendly face but decided against that plan. There was no point in worrying Cora when she would not be able to help. If anything, she needed her sleep. No one wanted a loopy Cora. The regular version was already such a handful.

Her first call had to be to the volunteers that were gathering downtown. Cyan began with the one person she knew who would absolutely be there and would answer their Scroll. It was in her job description, after all.

The screen was starting to dim. Or that could have been the lack of light in the office. Either way, the connection was established. The other Scroll was answered after a few rings by a black-haired woman.

"Deputy Roscoe!"

"Hello Wenonah. Nice to-"

"Where are you?! Do you have any idea how worried we were? We all got woken up in the middle of the night about a shooting and you weren't anywhere and then we had to start looking while hoping we didn't find-"

"Wen. Stop. You're going to give yourself a conniption."

"Conniption!? Oh! Don't get me started! Of all the irresponsible-"

The high-strung secretary went on a truly impressive rant. Cyan could not help but tune her out. She then began to wonder if this was what it was like for Cora when she was chastised by Maggie. That would explain why she never took the telling off seriously.

Wenonah began to lose steam the longer she went on. So much so that a few other curious faces were trying to force their way into the screen view to see what was happening. The secretary pushed back on them while keeping up the airing of grievances.

Eventually, she paused long enough for Cyan to reenter the conversation. "Do you feel better now?"

"A bit." She admitted.

"Good. I don't have much time-"

"What!?" Her voice rose several octaves.

That was a poor choice in words, Cyan realized. She poked her inner ear to emphasize the implied ringing in them. Those who had been trying to edge their way in were now conspicuously missing. Wenonah picked up on the nonverbal cues and let the deputy speak.

"I'm at headquarters on a dy- er, nearly depleted, battery. Could you direct some people down here? There was an incident over at Betty's shop."

"Another one?" She sighed before getting back to business. "Who should I alert? The ME and the sheriff?"

"I don't think that will be necessary." The senior most deputy kept a neutral expression as she spoke. "Can you get a hold of Deputy Mae? You, her, and a few other volunteers would help out a lot."

She did not trust the doctor anymore to give an assessment. It was important that the first draft of the crime scene was uncompromised. Maggie could be trusted to remain unbiased enough to go over the bakery with a processing kit.

"What about everyone else? Some were told to set up a perimeter, but the sheriff has not given us any further instructions. Like, what are they guarding against? When will they be relieved?"

"Tell 'em to hang tight. Things are a bit hectic, but we will figure something out."

"Okay." She accepted. "I'll let you go. See you in a bit."

The deputy frowned after the feed ended. Those vague orders worried her. While it was natural to set up boundaries to keep the public out of crime scenes, they usually did a better job communicating to the guards.

Although if Wendeval was on the scene, that would explain the confusion. The sheriff had never been great at organizing. That he had already arrived at the scene was doubly suspicious. He was nowhere to be found the last time there was an emergency. Cyan would need to check on that later.

She placed the communicator back into its container. While doing so, there was a sudden itch on her nape. Reaching back to scratch, she hissed when a stinging pain radiated down her body. Bringing her finger back to eye level, she found it was dripping in blood.

Concerned, she made her way to the nearest washroom. Swinging the door open triggered the automatic overhead lights inside. The bright bulbs temporarily blinded her. On the right-hand wall was a first aid kit she unhooked and carried along with her deeper into the room.

Presenting herself to the mirror above the sink, she unzipped the medical supplies and turned around. She had to strain while holding her hair up to get a good view. A flair up made her wince. What she found in the reflection caused another.

The top of her neck was horribly abused. Cuts and raised skin raced towards her hairline. She counted numerous glittering jagged bits that poked out from her raw skin. Blood flowed freely from the debris.

The thick jacket she was wearing had protected her shoulders and arms. Dusted white showed where the uniform had blocked the glass. However, the spaces that had not been covered, or where the leather rode up while she had been squirming under the assassin's foot, took damage.

She shrugged off the coat to see more. The clothing hit the ground with a thud. Beneath the professional armor was a black tank top with a smiley cartoon monkey face on the front. A gift from Cora she wore to stay cool.

That had to go as well.

The stinging intensified as she tried to pull the shirt up and over her head. Afraid that she would aggravate the injuries further, she whispered an apology to her best friend. With a careful motion, she ripped the thin material.

Without the obstruction, there was much more skin to scrutinize. The lower third of her back was somehow in worse shape than her neck. Serrated edges stuck out of open wounds. The bigger pieces had been kept in place by the clothing.

Tweezers from the kit in hand, she started removing the largest pieces. Each pull sent another wave of pain across her body. Gritting her teeth did little to lessen the discomfort.

To dissociate from the procedure, she started thinking about how Qrow would have handled this. Knowing him, he would tell her to stop acting like a baby and take her medicine. Oddly enough, the imaginary pep talk helped. She plucked the last of the stingers with little trouble.

The next stage was similarly daunting. Soaking a cotton pad with disinfectant was simple. Applying it to the wounds caused her to almost weep openly. Once again, she turned to the Qrow in her head.

This time, she planned how to get back at him for calling her a baby.

One way was to ride him about that incident report. She did not miss how nonchalant he was about the idea. By golly, she vowed, he was going to write that report. With proper punctuation and everything.

Ideas of administrative payback helped her relax through the worst of the burning alcohol. Now that the gashes were cleaned, she could move on to the last step. Namely, protecting the wounds from further aggravation.

This part did not require her huntsman substitute. One large bandage was enough to cover her neck. Meanwhile, the lumbar region required liberal use of gauze and tape. Satisfied that the wrapping would hold until she saw a proper medic, she admired her handiwork.

Absentmindedly, her fingers trailed down her spine. They ran across an older scar at the cleft beneath her underwear. She shuddered at the reminder of the worst day of her life. And in some ways, the best. The day she had met the man who gave her his last name.

What would her father think of the job she had done so far? Would he be proud? She had just begun her career as a full-fledged deputy when he had been taken by the Grimm. Killed on a routine patrol of nearby mines.

All they had found was his gun.

Cyan had tried to hold out hope that he was still out there. As the years passed, she reluctantly moved on. She did her best to do good by his memory; Maintain the alliance with Tocsin. Train her subordinates to be community oriented. Treat Relay's citizens with kindness and understanding, even when she disagreed with them.

Is any of that enough? She pondered.

The Sheriff's Office had been backsliding. When Wendeval had taken over from her father, she had thought the top cop designation would change him. She thought he would at least respect her father enough to not actively undermine previous policies.

Instead, Wendeval broke every norm. He routinely trashed the militia, shrugged off community engagement events, and surrounded himself with yes-men like Drwg and Sképsis. The sheriff was so concerned with building a new city to rival Vale that he neglected to make it one worth living in.

Through it all, Cyan worked around the flagrant violations. Stayed silent and persevered. But like an infection, his way of thinking was spreading.

The local farming community saw their sheriff as a great builder. They backed him in droves to become their first mayor. The new version of Relay that everyone wanted seemed like a cold and lonely place. If Wendeval did appoint Cyan as the next sheriff, like he had promised, she was not sure she would want the job.

Creaking from behind broke her concentration. There was movement in the lobby. Her reinforcements had arrived, much faster than she had anticipated.

Pulling her jacket back on, she buttoned all the way down. Hopefully, no one would notice she was not wearing anything underneath until she retrieved a new shirt from her desk. She sealed up the medicine kit before returning it to its spot while disposing of the torn shirt.

Refreshed now, she prepared herself for the effort needed to carry on. There was a body next door to process. With poise, she exited the bathroom.

The first thing she noticed was that the lights had been turned on. A large group of people had gathered around the front desk. Oddly, Maggie and Wenonah were not among them. They turned to her as one as she drew closer.

The volunteers immediately encircled her. They looked unsure. Guilty.

The bodies drew closer to her. The space between them shrunk until there was no way out. She doubted they were looking for a group hug.

"What's going on?"

"Ma'am." One of them said behind her. "You are being placed under arrest."

Her heart stilled. "On whose authority?"

Volunteers were not allowed to make arrests without supervision. Only those with the powers granted by the Sheriff's Office could detain others. Arresting a deputy was a line she did not think a civilian would cross alone.

"Mine."

Sheriff Wendeval pushed the crowd aside. He stood before her with a face carved from granite. His hand reached up and removed her hat. The badge pinned to the crown seemed to dim while in his hold.

"For what?"

"Murder." He boomed. "Take her away."

Chapter Next: Hear You Me