Unwanted

Unwanted, unneeded
You've always been mistreated.
Hang on! (don't do what they say to)
Unwanted, and been for so long
Say, "Hey Mom! I'm never coming home again!"

Saxon stumbled back and Vala pulled the knife from his ribs. "You… You cut me!"

"Just remember, darling," Vala began, advancing and snaking an arm around Saxon's neck. "You cut me first." She pulled him towards her and kissed his lips lightly. "Oh," she started, close enough that blood was dripping on her dress. "Who'd of thought you were warm inside?" Her lips twisted into a smile as she patted his cheek, gently smearing blood across his face.

"You can't run forever," he affirmed with difficulty.

Twelve years of wearing and hanging had proved enough for her. The drilling of the twelve years finally caught up with her. Every empty promise, every false proclamation. All the miscarriages, all the lost time, every broken heart… She would run and she would leave, but he would not follow. She wanted to make sure he couldn't even walk. Holding him against her, she thrust the knife just under his heart. "I'd like to see you try and catch me," she gritted, digging deeper. Blood spluttered down her front, but still she didn't give in. With one final thrust upward, she struck a nerve and Saxon crouched back. The beast within her retracted and she pulled the knife from him. She didn't want him to die. Oh no, she wanted him to live with what he had done to her. She wanted him to wake up each morning and feel his wounds, a visible reminder of everything he had ever done to her. She wanted to make sure he would never forget.

The king huddled in his own castle, nursing his wounds and shaking from the severity of the pain. With that she turned and walked out of the tainted hall forever. Behind her she left a broken man, a ripped and punctured man… and a ring, a ring of the continuous cycle she lived for twelve years. The cycle she broke away from and the life she left behind. The broken king, defiled and decrowned by his own queen.

The night was looking brighter already.

. . . . . . . . . .

"What's happening now?" Remus asked anxiously.

"She… She's walking away!" Fae smiled excitably.

"Is he alive?"

"He'll… live," she responded, her mood deepening. "A sad, lost life, but a life all the same."

"Then Vala won't go to Azkaban?" he asked anxiously.

"That's a debate… She did stab a Malfoy," Fae replied, eyeing Remus nauseatingly. "I suppose it depends what Malfoy Senior is interested in."

"Death, for sure," Remus answered hollowly.

. . . . . . . . . .

Under a table, the white tablecloth pulled down low, a foxhound sat. He had snuck in through a back door and watched the night's events with interest. Behind him, somewhere, he could sense the big, black beast.

The foxhound bent his head and seemed to sigh.

And the beast dies, he said, his anger cooling over.

Leave it here, the black beast motioned, setting down beside him. I appreciate your work, but this is where we switch off.

I suppose it's just as well, the foxhound answered. He rose from his jaunts and took one lasting glance at the company. It's a lost cause.

She's not.

The foxhound looked to the dog with great pity. Give her time. His eyes fell back to the empty doorway. Lost and broken. They don't come much worse.

The black dog shook its rugged head and dismissed the opinion. She'll pull through. She'll come around.

The foxhound began to walk off and paused. Dropping a glance back, he said, Just don't get caught up in a hopeless dream.

Padfoot smiled. You're talking to the wrong person, old sport. Wrong, indeed.

. . . . . . . . . .

"Did she kill him?" Gale asked in a breathy whisper. She craned to see. "Is he dead?"

"Gale…" Romulus began quietly. "It's time we leave."

"Did she kill him?" she repeated, louder.

"Gale," he tried.

"Did she?" she pressed harder, peeking over heads and through couples.

"Gale," he stressed for the last time. "He's not your father."

Gale turned to Romulus with a pierce in her eyes. "What did you say?"

A hand on her shoulder and an eye taking watch, he directed her from the hall in a hurried, unnoticed fashion. "I'm going to speak in a low voice," he began. "So as to make it appear I'm your husband." An attempt to keep attention from them. "Now listen to me-"

"Not far from a real spouse, are you?" she asked sharply.

He stopped her and pulled her eyes into his. "You would do well to keep your voice down." Dropping back into a rhythmic stroll, he curled his arm around her shoulders and continued. "The deed is done and now we must leave… I understand your need to see an injustice man die an injustice death--but this man is not your father. Your father is living back in the States, cramped in a small room in some big city, beer in hand and remote in the other."

"I never thought he was my father," she breathed, spiteful and irritated. "Never have I thought that slimy, slick idiot of a man was my father… My father could not compare to the likes of him with a leashed unicorn and a penny in his pocket. My father," she breathed, bowing her head, "Was a sick man."

"Then he's not worth your time," Romulus whispered gently. "Let him go."

Gale's head dipped and she brought her sad, unforgiving eyes to him. "Let him go?" she asked. "How do you expect me to do that?"

He only paused for a moment to check his guard. They were outside now, away from the streams of people and away from the crowd. They had made their way down the sidewalk and had found themselves in the street. They were, in short, completely alone. "Like this," he answered, catching her up in his arms and kissing her full and curious lips. When he had released her, "Your father was a wicked man," he said, "but you can overcome that. Let him go… Marry me."

. . . . . . . . . .

Vala followed an old, curved road. How she found herself there and where she was, she didn't know. All she knew was she must keep walking. She must get as far away as possible. She was no longer afraid of Saxon or his minions. She was simply determined to put as much earth between she and Saxon as physically possible. Her worn heels crunched against the gravel and the remains of her stained, shredded dress hung on her limply. The magic was gone. She couldn't go back to her old life because her old life was gone. James and Lily were dead, Sirius was running from the law, Fae and Grant were getting married… She supposed she could go back to live with Remus, but Remus had already given her away. Remus had already married her off to Saxon Malfoy, and that had proved to be the worst mistake either could have ever committed.

Vala wanted to believe in the rising sun. She wanted to keep walking until tomorrow. She wanted to believe that somewhere there was someone waiting for her. A home she could go back to and a love she could hold. But she had none of those things. All she had was a pair of blistering heels and a dress stained with her former love's blood. She had lost her place in the world, and now she was lost. Horribly lost.

In a world of schemes and lies and thieves, one wish did come true for that night. Slowly, over the horizon, the sun was waking up.

. . . . . . . . . .

It had been several hours, and somehow Saxon Malfoy had found his way into his father's office. It reminded him of his childhood, his father behind the desk, he in front, absorbing everything his father said. He had only cried twice in that room. Once when he was a child, and he soon learned what a mistake that was, and the second when he was a grown man. He did not regret his more recent outburst. He rather resented his father for how he had reacted.

"What actions are you taking?"

"This is a broken marriage, father, not a battle field," Saxon replied, lazily picking at the hilt of a sword. Sometimes he envisioned himself lifting that sword. Gripping its glamorous hilt and swinging that sharp, thick blade at his father. He never would, he knew, but sometimes it was pleasant to dream.

"Actions must be taken," Ares pressed.

"Get off it," he said. "She left me… The fairy tale is over."

"She bloody well stabbed you," his father corrected. "She ripped our heart out, any closer with that dagger and it would have been quite literal."

"I'm not concerned with technicalities," Saxon responded. "She left me. The war's over." He directed his attention to the chair he was in; an evergreen, velvet one with silver trimmings. He'd learned a lot in that chair. He had learned how to plot, how to plan... How to kill a man. "We were never very happy anyhow…"

"Happy? Happy!?" Ares pulled himself dramatically to his feet. "Is that why you think couples wed?"

"No, I didn't…" Saxon shook his head, bringing his eyes to meet his father's. "I believed families were meant to be military."

Ares took his seat uneasily. "I don't know what you meant by that comment, but-"

"I learned the father was always in charge and always right. I learned the rest of the family was simply his property, as disposable as tissue," Saxon carried on casually. "They were to obey him and listen to him and do everything he ever wished to be true…" His eyes leaving his father, he recollected his thoughts and redirected his attention. "I lived that lie. I've lived it for many years, but new events have taken place. Twelve years ago I made a broken woman my bride. I gave her a name, a house, a family… And that wasn't enough. She left me, father." A hand reached his chest and touched the bound wounds. "She's left an everlasting mark on me. I can't just forget what's happened. I can't just hire some hit man to take her down. To rip her heart out much like she did mine… I can't do that because it wouldn't bring her back. Even if it did, it wouldn't make her mine." Saxon stood up; he stood and turned slowly to the door. "She will never be mine, father. It's time I accepted that and moved on with my life… I've wasted enough sweat and blood on it already."

"Rebellion," Ares sneered, reaching his lips.

Saxon paused at the door and turned to stare at him. "I'm twenty-nine, father. Ten years past rebellion… I think it's about time you learned that." Inhaling, he breathed a sigh, and left his father to his own thoughts and presumptions.

. . . . . . . . . .

"Billy, baby! You're back!" Seth threw himself at the curly-headed boy.

"It's Ben, Seth…" he corrected. "I'm leaving the Gang."

"Whatchu talking about, fool?" Napoleon asked, stepping alongside Seth.

He rose his chin in false pride. "Well, I've been thinking… and I've taken a long while to think at that, and I only find it proper that I should kick myself out before handing the honors over to you fine gentlemen. This way I figure there's no awkward silences and confused dialogue."

"Yo, bro, I think you just achieved that," Napoleon replied, raising an eyebrow. "What's this talk about you leaving us?"

"Well, I've been thinking… This isn't the first time I've stormed out of the Crib with chaps and a shotgun. I mean," he shook his head. "I just don't think the Gang needs someone as reckless as myself around."

"Reckless as yourself," Napoleon repeated, a smile curling his full lips.

"This is the James Gang, we're notorious for being reckless," Seth added

"We just, wouldn't be us if we weren't reckless," his brother finished.

"You two are… But," Ben paused. "Well, I always thought I brought a type of balance to the Gang. I thought I kept things from getting out of hand, like I kept everything cool-headed and under control."

The brothers shared an expression of utter deception. They each arched an eyebrow in unison and shook their head to remove the ridiculous thoughts. "Sorry to break it to you, brother," Seth started, each brother taking a side of Ben and patting him on the back--gently breaking the news to him.

"But you were never very cool-headed," Napoleon finished.

"Brilliant."

"But never cool-headed."

Both shrugged and smiled good-naturedly.

Ben sighed and let his head drop. "Then I suppose I was nothing."

"Oh no, don't believe that," Napoleon started.

"The Gang would be lost without you!"

"Bonnie adores you."

"We need you," Seth said earnestly.

"And where would Clyde be without his silent mate?"

"What of Charlie and Bob?" Ben reminded, raising his head and glancing from each James Brother.

"The Ford Brothers?" Napoleon confirmed, tilting his head.

"Bloody sods…" Seth breathed, turning away for a moment. "They can damn well screw themselves in Hell."

"We try and avoid thinking on them," Napoleon cut off, shooting a shaky glance at his brother.

"What's up with those two?" Ben inquired curiously. "Something's up. What are they planning?"

"We're not entirely sure," Napoleon admitted, avoiding eye contact.

"Oh, I've got a bloody good idea!" Seth blurted, swinging on his brother with an accusing finger. Advancing, he continued, "I told you we should have reconsidered! I told you we shouldn't have given them a chance! But no, what did you say?" Seth stopped to mock think. "Hmm… I don't seem to remember quite what it was. Do you? Do you remember?"

"I said it wouldn't cause any harm."

"And where you right?" Seth pressed.

Now Napoleon straightened and leaned towards his brother, challenging him. "I haven't been wrong thus far, have I?"

Ben was confused. Apparently he had gotten into the middle of an ongoing argument. He had never liked the Fords very much, but he always thought the James were more partial than toleration. He was delighted… If not slightly confused. "Are you really scared of the Ford brothers?"

"No, I'm not scared of them!" Seth snapped in disbelief. "They couldn't put together a jigsaw puzzle between the two of them! Let's face it, they're not the brightest people in the world--nor are they clever."

"It's not that we're afraid of them personally," Napoleon cleared. "We're not concerned about what they'll think to do, but what they won't think to do. They have several options open to them to destroy the James Gang, which is what they eventually plan to do, but I--we--feel that they may take their most obvious options."

"Oh…" something clicked inside Ben and he looked up to his brothers for a reply. "Three Unforgivables?"

Napoleon nodded sadly, Seth tightened his jaw and fists.

Ben leaned against the counter. "So who's bright idea was it to take them on?" He had come to quit the Gang, but things were starting to look a little more interesting onboard.

Seth shot an icy glare at Napoleon. "Ask Boy Genius," he spit, narrowing his eyes.

Napoleon sighed and took a seat at the water-stained table. "I thought they would be less of a threat if we took them on. We didn't have to tell them everything… Just enough to make them believe they were a part of the Gang."

"And did they?"

Now it was Napoleon's turn. "I'm sure they did," he said in a low, agitated voice. "If someone hadn't gone shooting their mouth off."

"I won't stand for it anymore, Napoleon!" Seth yelled, slamming a fist down on the table. "I'm not going to sit back and watch those sods get the best of us! I won't allow that bloody Bob mongrel to harass Bonnie any longer! Or Charlie mock Clyde! The man's a bloody mute; he can't retort! That's just cruel." Seth turned in an annoyed half circle away from his brother and crossed his arms.

"I think," Ben started quietly, "That Clyde defends himself quite differently than yourself. He's more clever than you think."

Napoleon nodded in agreement. "I have to say that Clyde has a nasty streak. I once made a crack about his disability to please Bonnie…" He paused for the memory, horrible as it was. "I woke up in the middle of the night with a serious urge to urinate, and a toilet full of snapping turtles." He reflected for a moment. "Never jumped so high in my life."

"You wicked bastard," Seth cursed with a smirk.

"I was on a drunken rant," he shrugged, excusing himself. "I couldn't contain myself… Ah well," he sighed. "Happens to the best of us."

"Yes," Seth agreed.

A moment passed for them, each gazing into their own reflections. Finally, Ben spoke. "I don't suppose I'll be leaving then."

"I had hoped not," Seth replied.

"We'll certainly be needing you for what's to come," Napoleon agreed.

Their eyes met each other's; sharing thoughts and confirming suspicions. The coming battle would not be an easy one, but together, they could fight it.