Mark Hoffman

"I'm going... you will need to take care of each other," Darcy Hoffman squeezed Mark's hand. Her grip was shaky, her skin dry and cold. Bandages covered one of her eyes while they were stained like red wine on white sheets. The beeping of the heart monitor was the only noise heard through the tense hospital room. His mother, strong and unafraid, had to pause in between words with ragged breath. "I'm going… to be with your father soon. I'm sorry I can't… stay. You only have each other. Don't ever turn your back... on your family. I… will always… be with you."

"We will," Angelina Hoffman was grimace-smiling through teary eyes, lips squeezed in a tight line. She leaned forward and put her hand over her mother's, sandwiching Mark's large fist. Small hands, both of them had such tiny digits. Delicate hands. When did they become so small? "I love you, Mom. Please don't go."

It had only felt like yesterday that his mother towered over him, the one in charge. She had been the one person he always looked up to; but at this moment, she looked so frail. Weak. Who knew a fucking tweaker behind the wheel could take down such a powerful woman. It's not fucking fair, he clenched his fists tightly at the tops of his thighs. Not like this. He felt the dangers of tears breaking across his vision, blurring his world. No, not like this.

"Love you, mom," Mark said, holding back the lump in his throat as he forced his composure to stay straight and strong. His eyes burned but he clenched his jaw and forced them dry. He squeezed her hand, willing his warmth and life into her. He didn't want her to go. He wasn't sure how he could hold on without her to guide him. Their father had died on impact. His mother was barely hanging on. It must have hurt. He knew it must have hurt more than he could have imagined. "I'll look after Angie. Don't worry, I promise. Tell Dad… I'm sorry." He blinked to realize that a tear had escaped, sliding like ice down his cheek.

Darcy's eyelids were beginning to flutter. Her labored breathing rattled outward, sighing out her final breath. The heartbeats were irregular. Slowing.

Angelina's sobs crescendoed as the monitor wailed. He put his arm around her, letting her hang onto him as she broke down. His shoulder had a warm damp spot growing on it. He hung onto that sensation, distracting him from shedding any more tears of his own. She can cry for both of us. He stared at a generic picture hanging on the off-white painted walls. Flowers in a vase. He tried to keep himself focused on the pale blue ceramic and the cream-shaded petals.

It's just us two. He returned to his younger sister. She was only eighteen. Still a kid, finishing up high school. She was planning on going to college in just a few months. She needed him, and he'd take care of her. She'd stay with him. He had just finished his time at the Academy and had a good job lined up. Sure, he was only on a rookie's salary. But they'd make it work. He'd work hard. He'd get promoted. He'd do what he needed to do, so Angie could go to school and have the future she deserved.

"It's going to be okay, Angie," He told her, rubbing her back as her weeping lulled into hiccups and gentle crying. He reached towards the nurse call button, pressing the plastic down while keeping one hand on the back of his sister's delicate spine. He'd take care of her. He promised.

(Power of Will)

It had been a week since the funeral and Angie still hadn't eaten anything. He got to their apartment early that morning, having finished his shift to find Angie sitting on the couch, staring at the wall. No dishes had been in the sink. The trash can was empty. He had told her to eat something when he left twelve hours prior and she said she would. This had gone long enough.

"Angie." He took off his policeman's cap and sat down on the recliner across from Angie's sofa, eyeing her blank expression.

She turned to him, shadows under her eyelids, hoodie hanging loosely over her emaciated shoulders. He could see her neck bones. Her harrowed face pulled the trigger in his skull, making him decide to take some action.

"We're getting breakfast."

"I'm not hungry," she muttered, looking away again.

"Hey." He leaned closer to her, his chest tight as he willed her to just look at him. To just try. "Angie. Please." He waited a few moments, his mind reeling with desperation. "I haven't eaten yet and I'm starving. I need a hot meal but don't want to sit alone at the diner like a loser. Will you at least come with me? Keep your brother company?"

She blinked, turning her face to him with a pained expression. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I should have made you something."

"No-," he resisted the urge to smack his palm to his face, backpedaling. "You don't need to do any of that. Just - have breakfast with me. Let's go to Druther's. Like we always do. Come on, Angie, please?"

She seemed to ponder this, her light brown eyes unfocused. "Okay." She nodded. "I need to take a shower first."

"Do that. I'll change." He felt his heart skip in excitement when she stood up and went to the bathroom. This was progress. This was good.

He heard the water running. The apartment he got them had been what a new policeman could afford and was certainly enough space for just the two of them, but it was run down and worn. He had wanted to move closer north to be near Angie's college, but they couldn't afford the rent. The money from their parents' life insurance went straight to funeral expenses and the rest to Angelina's tuition. They weren't in debt, which frankly, was more than he could have hoped for. They would be okay, at least. Sure, it wasn't the Ritz, but they had each other. They just needed to take it one day at a time. In his new bedroom, he slowly took his uniform off, wincing when he went to shrug out of his unbuttoned shirt. His ribs stung; his thin undershirt didn't do much to conceal his bruises. His chest was a barrel of patches that brought agonizing aches every time he took a breath. He studied himself in the mirror.

His shift had been a shit show. He had been called over a domestic dispute that had escalated into a full-on pursuit and tactical response. He had to run several blocks and tackle a man about his build just a few hours prior and had gotten into an altercation where the suspect resisted. And happened to be an underground boxer. A dirty fighting cage brawler. It was rare coming across someone in his weight class that knew how to fight and though he smirked at the memory of knocking the guy out, striking the teeth off his jaw like it was T-ball, he had to walk away with a limp and in desperate need of some ice for his shoulder.

He had gotten the bastard pinned down after taking several heavy blows to the ribs and chest. Thankfully, the bruises on his torso were easily hidden with a t-shirt. Angie didn't need to see them. She was a total hippie. A pacifist that cringed at the sight of guns, covered her eyes during fight scenes in movies and paled at the sight of blood. Sometimes, her naivety made him roll his eyes. But mostly, he wanted more than anything to keep her that innocent for as long as possible. The world was dirty and cruel. She was like a candle in a cave and he was desperate to not have the light snuffed out.

After struggling into some fresh clothes, he went back to the living room to wait for his sister, turning the TV to the news. The anchorwoman was discussing the opioid epidemic riddling the city. His lip twitched in a sardonic sneer before he switched the channel, switching it to some talk show he didn't care about. Some outdated celebrity was talking about a kitchen appliance that would change the entire home cooking experience and the course of history. Oh boy.

His throat felt dry and he had a strong urge to go to the fridge and pop open a cold one to help take the edge off. But he knew Angie never cared for his drinking. Instead, he opted for a glass of water, downing it with a couple of pills of aspirin crushed between his teeth.

He slowly lowered himself onto the sofa, leaned deeply into the back of the sunken cushions, head tossed back to stare passively at the stained ceiling. A water stain had begun to seep across the cracked surfaces, rotten and beginning to blacken with mold. It made his nose itch. He needed to get them out of this shithole as soon as possible. He either needed to start climbing the ladder like an ape on steroids or transfer to a department far from the cesspool of this city. It wasn't likely Angie would want to leave, though. She was already set up to start classes in a month. She was about to begin her life, in the very city she was born in. Where her parents were born. Like it or not, for her sake, this was where he was stuck. He'd make do.

He just had to get promoted to Detective and things would improve. At least then he wouldn't have to wear the uniform every day. He closed his eyes, counting the months it was likely going to take before he'd even be up for a promotion.

The rushing water had ceased and after some distant rustling, the door creaked open. "Ready?" Her voice was soft.

He opened his eyes and slowly rolled his head to study her. She had put on a black hoodie and some faded jeans. Her face was pale and lined with more stress than her age should have allowed. She looked older than he felt.

"Yeah," he half growled from sleep deprivation. Despite how tired he was, he had to keep going. She was trying, for him. The least he could do was try as well. "If I don't get some coffee in me soon, I think I'm going to pass out."

Angelina Hoffman

They sat at a booth by the windows at a corner of the diner, allowing Mark the comfort of keeping his back at a corner while Angie could gaze out the large windows and watch the people going about their lives. The windows were thin and let the cold chill bleed through their panes. She shivered in her clothes, not remembering feeling this frigid from the typical dreary autumn morning.

The waiter approached, kind hazel eyes surrounded by long lashes and a wide white smile greeting them. "Well good morning, beautiful. To what do I owe the pleasure of serving you this morning?"

She blinked up at the man, taken aback by the brashness. She knew she looked like a mess. She smiled at him sympathetically. "Thanks. You really know how to earn those tips."

He winked at her. "Coffee?"

"Yeah," Mark's voice was heavy and sluggish but his eyes were sharp and lightning blue, pulling attention to them like a homing beacon. "And mind yourself around my little sister."

"Mark," Angie let out a warning groan, "He's just goofing. Lay off." She returned to the waiter, noting his nametag. "Peter. I'll have orange juice."

"Coffee and OJ, coming up. By the way, our breakfast specials today are-"

"Not interested," her brother waved him off, still giving him a stare of passive hostility, like an oncoming storm about to wreck a little sailboat's Sunday float.

The young man let out a half-smile-half-sympathetic-wince to Angie before turning awkwardly away and fleeing behind the counter. She spun to him quickly. "What's your problem?"

"My problem is I don't want to watch some creep try to pick up my kid sister right in front of me when I just want some breakfast and a cup of goddamn coffee. Is that too much to ask for?" He turned his frustration to her, mouth pursed into that pout that Mom used to tease him would get all the girls if he just learned to tone down the temper.

"He wasn't picking me up, Mark." She threw one fleeting glance in the man's direction, feeling a slight tremor of disappointment. She turned back to her brother, noting arms were both splayed on the table in front of him, his shadowed eyes watching her incredulously. "What?"

"Oh my god, you like him? That prick?"

"Shut up," she looked down at her hands, casting defiant eyes back up in between batting her lashes. "You're just cranky because you need to sleep."

"I'll sleep when I'm dead," he droned, pawing at the sugar packs at the side of his table and shaking the paper packaging. "Besides, how can I sleep when I have to fight all these pricks off my sister?"

"You're the one being the asshole," she whispered back, feeling the Hoffman family rage come to her. It helped warm her up and bring awareness to her limbs. She wanted to smack him. It felt good, this anger. It helped distract from the pain.

"Yeah. I am. You're right."

She started up to see Mark had a smirk on his mouth, the anger from before having melted away. "Well, maybe I'd rather see you throw Bambi eyes at some average guy with a steady job over just staring at the wall in that shit apartment. Lately, I'm starting to see that there are worse ways people deal with their grief. As long as he's not strung out and treats you with respect, fine." She blinked slowly, realizing he was giving his approval. "But Angie, focus on school. Guys like that are a dime a dozen. As soon as you start classes, I'm sure you're going to have your choice of idiots once you live on campus. Unless - you know." His cheeks went slightly pink. "You're always welcome to stay with me. You know that. But I know you want to start living your life. I just don't want to see you trapped. Getting distracted with the first guy you've seen after..." He shook his head. "Nevermind, I'll just shut up."

Well aware that she had been letting herself simply fall apart while Mark had to watch the show, her eyes stung. It had just been too hard. She hadn't been able to cope like Mark had. He was always the tough one. He was able to go straight to work as soon as the funeral was done as if Mom and Dad weren't buried under all that dirt. "Yeah, you're right. I'm sorry." She felt like it was unfair. That she didn't have any time to grieve.

"No, don't apologize." Mark dropped the sugar packs and pointed his finger at her as he quickly backtracked. "You did nothing wrong, you understand me? I'm not saying that-,"

"Coffee," the waiter interrupted, placing the white mug in front of Mark and the glass of orange juice in front of Angela. "Orange Juice. With a little extra-," He pulled out of thin air a paper umbrella and placed it in her glass. "-flair. I'm also a magician part-time. I do birthday parties and bar mitzvahs. In case you know anyone throwing one anytime soon." She couldn't help but giggle at that. He beamed at her and with another flick of his wrist a small notepad appeared in his hands. "So, what'll you have?"

"How about you make with the magic and disappear." Hoffman waved him away, unimpressed. "And take your time in coming back, we'll need at least ten."

The waiter retreated once again. Angelina let out a sigh, touching the little green umbrella with her fingers. "I'm thinking of taking a year off. I don't think I'll be up for hitting the books right away. I just need time to think. You know?"

"Yeah. Take whatever time you need, Angie." Hoffman was pouring sugar and cream in his coffee, sipping it despite the billowing steam pouring off the top. "No rush. I just want you to at least eat something. Get out and just go about the motions. Even if it's hard. That's what I'm doing. Faking it. I know it sucks. But it'll get easier, the more you keep going. One foot in front of the other. You know."

"Yeah," She gave him a small smile. "I know." She shifted the subject, forcing herself to try to be a little less of a downer. "You know, you keep pouring all that sugar in your coffee, you're going to get diabetes. Or worse, a dad bod."

Hoffman let out a deep chuckle. "I hear that's what the ladies like these days. Maybe that's what I'm going for."

She let out a groan. "Ugh, who told you that? Nooo." She began to giggle, imagining Mark built like their Dad, who had been a large man. He had been as tall as Mark, but built wide and bulky. Her brother had the bone structure but was lean; he had always been on the skinnier side growing up, but he was beginning to resemble the warm, analog pictures of their father when he was a young man. It was around his age that their father got married. "What about you, Mark? Any gorgeous tall blonde vixens working in your department?"

Hoffman choked on his coffee, coughing and hacking, making Angelina sigh and get him some napkins to mop up the brown spray that covered their table.

"No." Mark kept clearing his throat. "The ratio of male-to-female cops isn't really in my favor. Besides, who'd like this ugly mug? No, that's not what I'm looking for right now." He was speaking hurriedly, embarrassed.. He looked suddenly younger, reminding her that he wasn't much older than she was, though he certainly acted like he was.

"You're a handsome guy, Mark, I bet there's tons of ladies that are just dying for a chance to talk to you." Angelina raised an eyebrow. "Is that the only reason?"

"I don't shit where I eat, Angie." Mark's face was grave and serious. "I'm not at work to get laid. I don't have time to date. I want to build a career."

Angie shrugged. "Still, one day you'll need to start a family. Can't let the Hoffman legacy just..." she cleared her throat and quickly side-stepped from that thought. "Well, any ladies you meet on cases? Damsels you've saved that fall madly in love with Prince Charming?"

Mark's expression had gone cold and he began to wall himself off. He tended to do that when he didn't want to talk about something anymore. "None that I'd want to ask out. It's not exactly a Disney movie out there, Angie. Most of the women I've met on the job are victims. They're not looking for some big tough guy in their life. Usually that's what they're trying to get away from."

"Okay, then I guess I better just hurry up and get to college. It's clear my brother is going to die an old miser without my help." Her brother looked flustered, face pink and scowling at her. "What? If I'm not able to date it looks like I need to find some other use for my time. I think you are overdue for a girlfriend, Mark. I mean, if I'm going to have every cute guy get scared off, I'll just need to go find you a nice, liberal college professor to court you and get you off my hands. Some social justice goddess to keep you in check, since you've gone and donned the blue. I don't want to see my brother on the news involved with, god forbid, police brutality. I think a nice left-leaning perspective is just what you need." She was only joking. She knew Mark would never be in that situation. He was a good man. A kind, compassionate man. But she loved to tease him.

Mark had opened his mouth to respond, but was silenced by Peter, the waiter. "Hey," the man shyly approached their table. "Have you two decided?"

"Mark?" Angie smiled sweetly at her older brother, waiting for him to make his decision.

He glared at her, half bemused, half furious. He turned to the man and calmly ordered, "Farmer's breakfast. Extra hash."

The waiter scribbled away. "And…" he seemed to have been half-hearted, casting nervous eyes to Mark as he waited patiently for her.

"Blueberry pancakes, a side of eggs," she smiled up at him. "And your number." She cast defiant eyes at her brother while he stared glumly at her.

Peter blinked, shot a glance at her brother and then let out a short laugh. "Well, how about you come by after twelve? I get off work. We can grab lunch. And real lunch, not breakfast food, if that's alright with you. That is, if your brother isn't going to bury me in your backyard?" He shot another concerned glance towards Mark.

"Oh, he'll behave. Right, Mark?" She locked eyes and stared at her brother, the two of them silently in a test of willpower.

"If you eat everything on your plate today, fine," he growled. She broke into a triumphant grin. "Peter, it's a date." The waiter walked confusedly while Angie giggled. She turned to her brother. "Thanks, Moshy," she drawled out the thanks, the way she used to when Mark would eat her peas when their parents weren't looking.

"And please don't try to set me up with someone. I really don't have time for that. That's part of the deal. And I want you to be home by the time I'm up for my next shift. Or I'll be looking for that guy with a shovel."

She shook her head solemnly. "Mark, I swear, one day your humor is going to get you in trouble."

"Who's joking?" He shot her a surrendering grin. "He seems harmless, though."

"You can tell?"

"It's the magic shit. He's a fucking nerd."

"Yeah, well he's got a cute butt."

Mark let out a groan. "Please stop."