- Chapter Thirty-One -

Up, Down, All Around

Familia.

Blood is blood and can't be changed: only accepted or destroyed. You can disavow or marry or adopt, shelter or call it a ride-or-die; so long as the bond's real then at the end of the day that counts just as much. So long as you let it. And if by chance you know this kind of crazy love, then you know that between the best and worst of times it can be a lot to bear - perhaps even more than any sane individual could manage - however you're ultimately stuck with the hand you've been dealt. What you do with it from there... well, that's a whole other can of worms.

Still, that doesn't mean that you need to feel ashamed for being unable to cope with not being the "happy" model in the stock photo that came with the frame. Although this was one of those times where it was easier said than done - Alberto was everything that a good son should have been, and he was... less so. One of the defining traits that made a Parades a Parades was that la familia came above all else, however, for the youth fleeing the scene his nerves were telling a different story.

Traditional values embodied in Alberto with goodness to spare, technically the apartment only had one name on the paperwork; less saintly, even now the younger of the brothers had to remind himself that he didn't have to be comfortable with living in inescapably close quarters. Their parents were example enough of that, when they were bothered to be an example at all. Heart twinging in his chest as he took another two steps towards the roof, a certain name flashed across his mind's eye. What a cruel world.

Standoffish at the best of times, after a week with just a small selection of the Parades family tree the "joyous" visit had turned tedious, leaving the young man feeling done. Done with forced smiles, done with sharing a space that was already cramped to begin with, done with people in general.

At that age where everyone else seemed to be sorting out the transition from school to real life, he was just crashing there until he could work out his own living arrangements. Work was a matter more or less solved. Anyways, when the pull-out couch in the spare room was available for the best price on the market, the unassuming youth in the hand-me-down leather jacket wasn't about to just turn up his nose at free room and board. Sure the neighborhood might have been in the heart of gang territory, so what? Free was free!

Most nights might have been filled with the unfortunate company of a terminal beast a room over, true, but that was still infinitely better than what could have been. Alberto might have had little to no knowledge of what it was their striped neighbors got up to - and knowing him the ignorance was all for peace of mind - but he wasn't nearly so blind. No, oddly enough what came the closest to being the straw that broke the camel's back (ha) wasn't the profession of the leaseholder or even the location of the rooms. For the freeloader, it boiled down to personality.

One of the few redeeming traits passed along from their parents, at the end of the day both siblings could cut through the bullshit to see the good in one another; modern living just got in the way some nights. Usually weekends, when a majority of the veterinarian's time was spent at either the animal clinic downstairs or out. Just out.

Beyond the point where the novelty of getting to bring his own beer to the party had worn thin, the younger sibling felt like there was a difference between having fun and just being a dick for the sake of it. Teflon in that he couldn't be touched with accusations, Alberto truthfully wasn't so bad when it was just him on his own (not that he'd ever hear those words out loud). Obviously he had his moments, but who didn't? Point is, the younger Parades brother honestly didn't want to think about their faceless company or what was happening behind closed doors.

Urgh, he groaned internally as he ascended the stairs to the rooftop, I sound just like my abuela. Like all elders with little more left to do than oversee the future of their grandchildren, he knew that she meant well in theory, yet that did little to make the medicine easier to swallow.

Speaking of his abuela, tio Gabriel should be pulling up to collect her and the rest of the family in another fifteen minutes or so. Farewells already spoken ad nauseam, now all that was left was an informal dinner for the cousins. As the kindest and most responsible of tio Gabe's triplets (yeah, triplets), Minnie would offer to take everyone else that was interested out for either dinner or drinks. Having given himself the time off, Alberto would opt for drinks after dinner, with or without the rest of the Parades clan. The youngest and most studious of the three, Alejandro would need to tend to his neglected homework, so he'd doubtlessly scurry back to his dorm at the first opportunity. Free-spirit Imelda would raise no objections and just "go with the flow". Newly single (and the sole son from a previous relationship), Juan might prove to be the only wild card. Married for the last six years he'd made a certain routine for himself, although that alone might be enough to convince him to stay out later than he might usually.

For those without a problem socializing - i.e. the rest of the family - there would be no refusing the farewell feast, which basically guaranteed at least three hours respite. And that was without going for drinks. Until then, the oft forgotten child would have to hide up on the roof and hope that his intentionally muted demeanor was enough for the rest to conveniently forget to count heads. As there was historically such a pattern, that wasn't too tall an order.

Unperturbed by the solitude and in fact convinced that the separation was better for everyone involved, what seemed like the most daunting task was figuring out how to make the most of the situation. Theoretically the correct answer was to follow Ale's example and study up on the details of his latest assignment, however considering that he was a procrastinator at heart and that there wasn't really a rush, now seemed like a good opportunity to just relax.

[Logan and Chloe]

Chloe did not care much for the revision to the plan, but she couldn't deny that the surfer version of Sam was on to something. Not that she let the guy know she agreed from the start - the dark-haired thief may have seen it his way, but it was with no small amount of reluctance. Plus in her experience, it was just fun messing with anyone in the Drake family.

Accents all the cover they required, the blonde was quick to realize that they could do as the halflings did and put themselves closer to the danger so that they were that much safer from harm. Somehow he had the impression that the Aussie beauty wouldn't quite see the simple brilliance if he were to phrase it as a pop culture reference, so he refrained. Instead, as he put it to his companion, they could hide in plain sight and pose as tourists if anyone approached. After all, how could someone from out of town be expected to know what sort of place this really was?

The harder sell, Logan could pass as the personification of California despite being born on the opposite coast. He had the hair, the laid-back disposition, and the same infectious charm as an A-lister, except for him it was genuine. Any geographic buffs to catch them might have raised an issue about his ignorance, however it wouldn't be such a stretch to buy that he was clueless as a lamb at the slaughter. Sharp as she was, Chloe was confident that her accent alone would convince the average joe. And the not-so-average-joe? Frazer had a fix for that too.

Sun as faded as their hopes were beginning to look, she glanced to her partner in crime after his sixth or seventh look to the upper story windows. From where they sat, one of them wasn't catching the buzzy golden glow of the street lights the same as the others, which had led her to speculate that it had been broken. The only mistake there had been saying it out loud - it was only natural that Logan would be worried. But was it for the father that wanted no part of his life, or for the girl? He said he had come back for her, that it was the right thing to do, but now that the fan had been plugged in and switched on, had that changed?

"Trust me, we'll know." Having worked with both brothers on a number of occasions throughout her career, Chloe was absolutely certain that they would get some sign before the night was over, although she doubted it would come from the comms.

Only half aware that he had been gawking at the building's weak point yet again, Logan hesitantly tore his eyes away from the Rampage-style opening and nodded in her direction. Hands in his pocket from the chill of the wind, the blonde wished he had brought his hat as well. "Chelsea would say tha same thing if she were here... She always knows what ta say."

Right, he had mentioned having a wife. Not really the settling down type herself, a part of her brain had switched off whenever the little woman came up, however she'd heard enough to have painted a picture in her mind. "Cute little Kiwi, yeah?"

Cute only she was being bossy, for every other moment Logan thought that she was simply the most beautiful thing in the world, body and soul. Chelsea was the best, plain as that: smart, caring, and as important as breathing. "Yep. Man, I 'member the fight she kicked up when I asked her ta move in wit me. I kinda mostly jus lived in my van, campin' under the stars where ever I could. But when I met Chel, I knew I'd do anythin' for her, even give up the world." To be fair, by that point he'd seen more than enough to keep any man content; not that type of woman, the nurse would never ask him to give up who he was. "She was cool wit jus slummin' it for a bit. It was jus leavin' home that scared her so much. I know Sydney's still pretty far from Auckland, but I took her back every other weekend for the three years we lived there, like I promised."

"Pretty tourist-ey. You take her anyplace else?" At least now it made sense how he picked up on her accent so quickly.

Throughly distracted, Logan smiled before he rattled off a list. "Where haven't I been wit my better half? First there was..."

[Wyatt's Assessment]

Fun not the first word to come to mind as he rode the elevator to the roof, Wyatt was deeply and truly disappointed that there wasn't enough cannon fodder to constitute so much as a mild workout. Scarcely even breaking a sweat from the moderate target dummies gunning for him, the soldier had to wonder if the premises were only being covered by the under-trained desk jockeys. Given the scene he'd uncovered in one of the offices, he could believe it; not the choice he would make in the enemy's position, but assuming the missing party was who he thought it was, it was an understandable strategy. Having said that, the mercenary's offspring wouldn't have used kidnapping as his method of approach either.

Eyes to be believed, there had been some nature of scuffle or other excitement at some point, most likely prior to the the arrival of the rag-tag rescue team. A janitor had yet to be sent up to clean up the few shards that hadn't exploded outward in the daring escape, so that was encouraging to the timeline. Another thing that made Wyatt ponder the escapee's identity was the importance of the hostage - with the queen in play, why mess with mere pawns on the board?

Ordinarily these discoveries could have been construed as a promising omen, yet there was a major "but" at the end of that sentence: other than the little fact that there were historically few escapes from the Tiger's clutches, there was nothing to indicate it was his girl. In fact, from all the intel he had on Adler's little princess, there was nothing in her background to suggest that there was even a remote possibility that it was her. Athletic activity aside, Daniella stayed on her mother's lane and hardly ever veered off the course.

Like her father before her, the heiress had displayed the physical capacity required for a dangerously active lifestyle, receiving instruction in fencing and competitive swimming. Not to mention a handful of the other common staples found on the resume of just about every other one percenter. In an effort at balance, technically the young woman wasn't without some useful ability; some self-defense classes, a year of Brazilian jiu-jitsu, and almost a lifetime of archery.

Princess oozed money and refinement, and in an attempt that screamed rebellion, had elected for kayaks and dirt bikes. From all accounts there wasn't a sport around that she hadn't dipped her toe into at least once, yet from his experience a leopard can't change its spots. Granted knowing how to ride could easily come in handy, if the heiress had attempted to join his unit she would have been refused on the grounds of being unqualified. True, due to her advantages she would likely score higher than most applicants, but there was more to surviving than what she had learned in a classroom or even out on what she would consider to be 'the field'. Girl had no idea.

Although there was something to be said of fear - she might have lacked the proper training to be a soldier, however if motivated Wyatt believed anyone could save their own skin.

By that logic it made sense to investigate the missing person, just on the off chance that it really was the Adler girl. Following that possibility through to it's natural conclusion, when he stood in the office he tried to imagine the scene as best he could. Whoever it was would have been terrified of what was waiting for them, but if they hadn't already had a taste then they wouldn't have been nearly frightened enough. And if they knew what to expect, they would have been desperate enough to try anything - hence the window. Lack of personal making much more sense when there was a highly valuable goldmine on the lam, it could be inferred from the empty space that there was also a lack of a body.

Close enough to the edge to be knocked over by a strong enough gust of wind, Wyatt had surveyed the damage outside before deciding on a course of action. Since it was growing late, visibility was diminishing greatly, but not enough to miss Chloe and the surfer lingering by the defunct fountain at the front. From the looks of them sitting at the base, one would have thought they were just old friends catching up.

Dumb a move as hiding in plain sight was, in that moment Wyatt figured that it was actually rather brilliant - this time. Any of the goons coming or going would more than likely give status updates on the missing person, and if the duo had been posted there long enough, surely even the blonde could work out who they were talking about. His mother was right to admire how crafty a creature Chloe was.

Since the ground was covered (as well as it could be), Wyatt figured that if this was indeed the heiress, he'd have better luck following her example. Breaking the pattern of the expected, it was clear to him that his path was to canvas the rooves. Thumb brushing the radio at his hip, the soldier left the office and made for the elevator at the back of the hall.

[Objection In The Enemy Think Tank]

Luck on his side this time (for the moment at least), Drake allowed himself a soft sigh of relief when someone called out to the mook filling up on crappy espresso. Floor laid out like a half-finished game of Tetris that had been rigged to an impossible difficulty, Coffeepot turned ever-so-slightly when hailed. Not familiar enough with the language to be sure of what was said exactly, all the thief knew was that a pretty little thing had moved up to block the one vulnerability in his hiding place.

Ready to turn a blind eye to his unexpected savior, Sam wasn't too preoccupied thanking his lucky stars to notice an easy nine. Seriously, raw beauty greater than the magnetic pull of the rich and fabulous, it was no mystery who he'd be thinking about later that night. Rather the following morning at this rate, but again, screw the semantics.

Speaking of screwing, it was a shame that that probably wouldn't be happening anytime soon... Unless he could work his charms on the impressionable ward that had been so generously dumped on his lap... Whereas this naughty office stereotype had the look of a lay that could make up for the lost time, Rafe's little girl looked like she'd be both clingy and a crier. Christ knows he'd already seen just about every other type of tear out of her; although the ex-con had been fooled before.

Every inch the quintessential ice queen, Bai was apparently as much of a diva in the sheets has she had been in the boardroom; what had caught Sam off-guard about his partner's partner was that she could be generous if you indulged her enough beforehand. And if memory served, that wasn't nearly as difficult as one might expect. Although considering how they had come to be, in hindsight it made more sense that all that time alone had starved the woman of the only escape she had left. Mommy, boss, and occasional toy, the vices of old just weren't in the equation - not if she wanted to keep things that way.

Could have been that she was secretly a tiny bit nicer than anyone had caught on to, but that seemed unlikely.

Back in the present, the history buff had no clue how long he could rely on the graces of coincidence, so he peered around the filing cabinet once more. Flirting over the porcelain, neither of the two had any iota that the world went on around them. Taking his chances, he darted to the cramped yet standard leg space of a moderately covered desk. For half a heartbeat he thought someone might have seen him crawling beneath the cubby, but no one had raised an alarm, so he figured he was safe. For another moment.

"Jian won't mind that his little bride has some experience, so long as she puts it to good use." Snippy, snippy.

Louder than thunder, the building argument was picking up enough to hear clear across the room, although not too many seemed flustered by the increase in volume. Quite the contrary - whoever was nearest to the seemingly unoccupied desk the brunette had commandeered had began to type even faster than before. Admirable work ethic one thing, the distracting part was the nervous pattering of feet on the hard plastic mat beneath the desk.

All traces of delicacy and forced politeness removed along with the proverbial gloves, the returning response carried a sense of intimate knowledge, "Well you would know." That was unmistakably the sound of personal knowledge on the matter, or perhaps just bitter jealousy rearing its ugly head.

Weighted footfalls of a secretary carrying one too many books in a stack at once not too far from where he was hidden, it was difficult to ignore the stinging sound of a hand slapping flesh. Well acquainted with the glowing red feeling that followed, a little part of his sympathy went out to whomever had been on the receiving end; whoever it was, they ought to have been thrilled that it wasn't Elena doing the hitting. Not a pleasant experience, especially when it was deserved (and that first time had been more than earned). Actually, even when it wasn't the petite reporter, it still bit to be in that position.

Maybe - just maybe - Sam really ought to reconsider certain life choices. Or at the least how he approached certain circumstances.

Sympathy for the devil that wasn't himself only so limited, Drake was doing his utmost to focus on figuring out if the librarian was coming or going over the feral noise of the unfolding drama. All the same, the adventurer couldn't not hear the catty devolution of language that came just before the fight. "...just like the home-wrecking little halfbreed tart!" Three guesses as to who the so-called tart was.

Label as excessive as it was vulgar, Sam would have verbally disagreed with their assessment of the heiress if it wouldn't have meant compromising his position. For silent observers that had been keeping such intimate surveillance for Christ knows how long, any one of them should have known just how inaccurate those words were. Honestly, if there was even the remotest chance that he was wrong about just how virginal the little one was, he'd have seen more than the occasional accidental glimpse of underwear by now.

If anyone in her bloodline was a home-wrecker, it was clearly her father. Obviously. Still not her biggest fan, in his mind Bai more than had the tart part covered on all her lonesome. Although... Whatever, the point was that they were stupidly, painfully mistaken about Dells.

Girl was just too boring to be bad.

[Atop A Veterinary Clinic]

Weakened state leaving her vulnerable to the elements and man alike, Daniella jerked involuntarily as the web of amber street lights flickered on around her. Dim in the distance but unmistakable for what they were, the misty honeysuckle pinpricks marked the edge of one grid before becoming a greater presence less than a millisecond later. Ordinarily the warmth and electric hum would have been a most welcome sight in the dusk, however the arrival of night only meant more trouble. More danger.

Condition nearing the critical peak that came just before the flat line, what little ration remained begged for the girl to snap to so that she might make more of an effort at self-preservation. Logically the next move was to find better cover if there really was no pushing her body forward, however she lacked the strength to do more than fling one arm out to pull herself forward. Possessing the physical strength required to drag herself on a good day, for all the fight left in her spirit Daniella's arms may as well have been made of rubber. Or cooked noodles that had been left in the water too long, leaving them soggy. Taffy melted in the sun or a bloody sack of meat that had been de-boned. Lovely imagery aside, even that was too generous for how she felt.

Daddy said they could be together again soon...

Tears welling up in the corner of her eyes, the cold blew right through Daniella's marrow and froze in her lashes like crystals. Broken enough to not even bother blinking them away this time, instead she wondered if they looked anything like the beautiful necklace her mother had bought her for a prom that had come and gone without so much as a single invitation. Expensive gifts were the norm, but Mama had genuinely been happy to share such a milestone with her daughter... Oh, and the dress! Perhaps the only thing more beautiful than the unworn dress was the smile on Mama's face when she tried it on. How badly had she been disappointed by the outcome? Was it more or less than what she felt for her child on any given day?

What did it matter, when all I can do is bring shame and dishonor?

Reminded of her mother indirectly, the heiress couldn't help but relive her own resentment. Gnawing like a flesh-eating virus, black as the night that promised to be her last, and festering, just the thought of that woman left a sour taste in her mouth. Daniella didn't want to feel this way about the woman that had given birth to her, but how could she not? The hurt of learning just how much her mother pulled the strings behind the scenes was just too much to forgive! So what if she was being dramatic? It wasn't like she had a great example!

Horrible as it was, she wished that she could just go back to thinking that her mother was dead. Christ, that night felt like a thousand years ago now... Breath hitching in her chest as her throat constricted, the young woman bitterly remembered that she'd promised herself that there would be no more tears; a liar just like Mama, the young woman honestly thought that she was going to die on that rooftop, alone. Always alone. Why was she always alone? What was so wrong with her, really?

Was I ever more than just a doll to her? Is it my curse to be little more than a golden ticket, or did my father know that same pain? How much anguish has to come from a name? Or, maybe... it isn't a name... Maybe it really is just me that's wrong...? How did I come to be so broken?

Living sure would show them, but what would be the point? Mama could find a way to salvage her precious position somehow, even if that meant starting over from scratch. And of the people that would be affected by her death, that was about it. Sure, Chloe and Mr. Drake might mourn for a moment, but ultimately what more could she have possibly been to them besides yet another job? Pathetic little heiress, not a friend in the world. But why bother with friendship when everyone she thought she'd cared about either used her or died? Even her own mother hadn't been exempt.

Just keep your eyes closed, Daniella told herself as all the melodrama came to a head in a warped final bow, the starring agony and isolation breaking through everything that had been holding it back. Spilling free like ichor, the young woman trembled from an ache that seeped deeper than the morrow and into the very atoms themselves, it'll all be over soon. Sighing into the wet wind, she knew that this time it wasn't a lie. The heiress only had to stay invisible a little while longer, and then there would be no more pain. No more cliché. No more rejection, no loss, nor harsh words and lies... No torture. No more anything.

Eyes closing in surrender, as that thought sunk in so too did the fear of the unknown.

Daniella guessed from the weeping wounds that it would hurt until the last possible moment, yet she had no clue if the woe would only grow, if that physical ribbon would remain on her soiled spirit. It might fade away like the rest of her, but then again it might not. For all she knew, it could even get worse. Though that wasn't ideal, she supposed that must have been a fair trade for her slow suicide. Because that was what this was - suicide.

Madness might have brought it on, but there was no calling it anything other than what it really was. Mama had taught her that her ancestors would be waiting for her, but what if joining them this way kept them from truly reuniting? Suppose that as the last of the line, the souls of everyone before her had ceased to be? And what about her father? Say she could get in to the afterlife, could she even be able to find him? Would he even want her to? Maybe there really wouldn't be anything waiting for her at all, but what if she had to face all of her regret? For everything that Daniella hadn't done yet, there were still one or two decisions that were called into question, especially now that everything was coming to a permanent close. Could she really face all of her guilt?

Terrified by the prospect of what was (or wasn't) waiting for her, Daniella's eyes shot open.

[In Tetris We Trust]

"Just get over yourself! You think you're the only one in this room to have slept with Jian?!" Also one such statistic apparently, the goon of previously contained jealousy flared and raged as blows were exchanged. Sam couldn't see what was happening from his vantage point beneath the desk, but it wasn't hard to guess that this fight had been a long-time coming. "You weren't the first, and you definitely won't be the last! None of us will be."

Resignation echoed throughout, except instead of the realization hitting home, Drake was reminded of a day he'd honestly forgotten until that moment.

Sea-blue eyes shimmering and deadened by a powerful sense of shame and even stronger self-loathing, that final time Bai had touched her left hand, rotating a ring that wasn't there. Unaware if it had been a conscious gesture or not, the woman had done the same thing every single time they had fallen in bed together. She had clearly considered it to be cheating, but he was less sure it counted when Rafe's attention was elsewhere. What made it so different this time was that they both somehow knew that that was going to be the last time they'd be in that position.

Like every time that she 'relapsed', they had made a game of pretending to fight the attraction, most times even going as far as to threaten that it would never happen again. A magnanimous gesture on her part, the businesswoman had even allowed the ex-con to think that he was in control. For a moment. On so many levels it had been the same exact scenario as it always had been - Rafe had even called off yet another dinner with the mother of his child - yet there was no mistaking that this was a cat of another color.

It was plain to see that she genuinely loved that psycho too much to keep hurting him, despite the fact he was doing worse to her. Rafe didn't show a single sign of caring for Bai even half that much, but it was clear that she was prepared to do anything for the jackass. Fire kept mankind alive, and just like a real fire, he burned anyone that tried to get close; ice itself, Bai would burn herself alive if she had to, but she would do it. And she had on more than one ocassion.

Playing the part of a better man, he had asked Bai what had been wrong when they pulled apart, yet she could only stare at him, as if she hadn't been able to fathom the words coming out of his mouth. Finally, as he'd began to formulate fears in his mind that her kid might not be an only child for much longer, she shook her head of their short-lived affair. Fixing her glasses and blouse to return to work, to Rafe and the role he expected her to play without objection, the woman actually flashed him a sad smile before tenderly touching his cheek and rising from the office sofa they'd defiled seven ways to Sunday.

With that one simple gesture, Sam could tell how much it killed her to be faithful, just like it killed Jian's side piece to admit that their time together meant nothing.

"Give it time, this one won't be special either." Unless he was mistaken, it sounded like a third horse had entered the race. Christ, just how popular was this kid? And how could he apply to work in a place like this? In all seriousness, Sleeping Beauty might want to be careful about touching that one...

Enough time wasted on pointless memories and even less pressing musings, the thief laid low as the fight escalated, waiting until the opportune moment. Files were slammed down on desks as feet danced and stomped to watch the action, bodies jostling one another to claim the best spot. But still he waited, bidding his time. Voices rose and office supplies started to fly, but Drake didn't feel the time was right until he heard the familiar noise of someone taking bets. With people clamoring to be heard over one another (and ogling the combatants for the first signs of skin or spilled blood), he peered around the edge of his cover to make sure that the cost was at least relatively clear.

Thank God for cat fights!

[A Chance Encounter On A Veterinary Clinic Roof]

Chipping alabaster paint revealing the sturdy metal below, a million and one better color options for the almost grainy pigment came to mind as his tawny fingers fumbled with the stubborn knob. There were probably a dozen different tenet complaints about the back door every week or so, however none came from Alberto. Some kind of magical door-whisperer, the licensed vet had told his kid brother repeatedly that it had to be handled the right way. Honestly he told everyone as much in a bi-lingual note he'd taped over the paper sunflowers someone else had left to make the building feel a touch more homey, but no one had quite seemed to unlock the trick.

Brother or not, frankly he thought Alberto was full of shit.

"Let's try this-" huffing from the surprising amount of resistance he was meeting from the door, the young man mumble-growled between clenched teeth, "again!" Greeted with absolutely no progress at all after three separate attempts, he leaned into the imitation wood that made up the frame and rammed his shoulder against the portal with renewed vigor. "Oh come on!" Grunting in exasperation, the younger Parades cursed himself for forgetting what a struggle it was to get outside. Somehow, he always did. "Just... a... little... bit... MORE!"

Finally budging enough to get open, the young man smiled to himself and patted the frame before stepping outside. Such a good little door! Ordinarily on clear nights the first thing that hit the senses upon exiting the building was the light of an old camping lantern that had held up reasonably well after more than a couple decades of regular use. Well, semi-regular, but point. The second was the lack of animal urine and sedatives that smothered the top two floors.

What one didn't hear was the rather alarming sounds of feeble whimpering and the bodily scraping of something alive on rubble and concrete.

Mind immediately going to the end of his first week at his brother's clinic, young Parades remembered the strung-out junkie that had broken in. Shallow skin more like paper and stamped with violet veins and broken blood vessels, the soulless stranger was more skeleton than human when they'd found him looting through the supplies for tranquilizer. Alberto had warned him from the very beginning that that sort of thing happened on occasions, but like all cocky youths he'd shrugged the warning off.

Prepared to do whatever had to be done, he quickly scanned the area before going to the pile of rocks that decorated the wicker patio chair that had been placed outside for communal use. No one was quite sure who had gathered all the different stones that dusted the outdoor set, or if they were even still present, but at the moment it didn't matter. So long as he could protect himself and fend off the intruder, the crude weapons could have been left by an angel for all he cared. Ain't no one was gonna mess with his home! Not again.

Used to the layout of the escape from home more than he had been the apartment, the young man didn't have to think twice about which of the stones would be the heaviest. Eyes automatically roaming over the hand-knited chair their aunt had gotten Alberto when he first bought the clinic, the young man didn't skip a beat as he picked up the best possible weapon at his immediate disposal. In fact the only thing he probably did wrong was forget that he could have cried out for help, that his family was more than likely still near enough to hear him.

"I'm armed." Calling out into the windy night chill, he kept his eyes low for a body as he moved a little further away from the door. Too many times he'd been underestimated, and too many times the offending party had paid the price. "If you know what's good for you-"

Half delirious, there was a muffled noise very much like a whimpered plea. Turning to face the source he was prepared to attack, that is, until he saw that it was a wounded woman. Chivalry not dead in his house, he lowered the stone in his hands but didn't quite drop it as he wearily approached the pathetic creature. Just because it was a woman didn't mean that the stranger wasn't dangerous.

Loss of blood leaving her pale as porcelain, the first thing he noticed about the wretch's ragged appearance was that her hair was matted and dark as a black bear in the wild. Only barely hanging in there, a young woman close to his own age reached out with bent fingers stained crimson. Trembling from exposure, he couldn't tell if she was attempting to move herself another inch - give or take - or if that was her way of asking for help. Fragile as a leaf at the end of autumn, tears tracked across cheeks blackened by grit and dust, little white buggers beginning to crust at the corners of her eyes.

Underneath all that grime she might have been pretty (the contrary could have been just as true), but all he saw in that moment was a scared little doe on her own for the first time. Although he deemed her to be no more of a threat than wet paper, he thought that if she'd had the strength, she might have looked half-crazed. And for all he knew, she might have been.