A/N: Twilight belongs to Stephanie Meyer. I'm just playing with her characters but the plot of Longing does belong to me. Jasper as the God of War and Peter 'just knowing shit' are ideas that belong to IdreamofEddy.

I hope you all had a wonderful New Years. Mine was very quiet but that's one of two ways I like to spend my time ringing in a new year, so it was good.

Thank you to Laurie Whitlock, my beta, AlwaysJASPERsLOVE and Shadman, my pre-readers, and my sister Shelljayz, who pre-reads and helps me find clarity when I'm stuck on the story and also when I'm stuck in life.

Thank you to everyone who has put Longing on their alerts, favorited, and reviewed. I so appreciate all of you. I also want to thank you all for sticking with me through the plot rehash. I know that slowed things down some, and I won't apologize for that because there was no other way for me to write that part of the story, but I'm grateful that you have continued to read despite the fact that the pace lost some of its momentum.

This chapter contains some allusions to and mentions of child abuse. Fair warning!

Chapter 18

oOo

September 2080

BPOV

-Flashback-

Saturday

It was just after five in the afternoon when Mr. Conroy dropped me off at Rafe and Lydia Jones', patting my shoulder in a grandfatherly sort of way that I did my best not to flinch at and reassuring me that he would do his best to vindicate me.

The Jones' lived in a nice yellow, two-story, four bedroom, clapboard house with a brown roof. It wasn't swanky or elegant the way the Cullen home was ...

Fuck! Quit thinking about the fucking Cullens. They betrayed you ... no he betrayed you. The rest of them have nothing to do with this. Just quit thinking about it.

Lydia Jones was a woman in her early thirties, and everything about her was slight from her diminutive 5'2" height to her too-thin frame. She had jet black hair, sage green eyes, and cafe au lait skin. I suspected she was the product of a biracial couple, most likely a Caucasian/African American pairing, but it wasn't something I would ask about. I was a lot of things, but I wasn't rude. Alright, that's a load of shit. I'm plenty rude but never needlessly so, and I did possess a little thing called tact ... when I felt inclined to use it. She had a sweet smile, but there was an emptiness behind her eyes I couldn't place.

Rafe wasn't home when I got there. According to Lydia, he was spending the day at Churchill Downs watching the races, but I couldn't have cared less where he was. I was just biding my time anyway. As soon as the clock hit midnight, the tracking anklet was coming off and I would be putting Louisville in my rearview mirror.

Aside from me, there were seven other kids living with the Jones': Shiri, 4, Jax, 5, Elizabeth, 6 and the only one of whom was their biological child, Matt, 8, Alana, 8, Lucas, 11, and Mari, 12.

Kids my own age weren't the only kids I didn't have the first clue what to do with. I was damn adaptable, and did it quickly too, but when Shiri, a pale girl with white-blonde hair, wide blue eyes, and her thumb tucked firmly in her mouth, latched herself tightly onto my leg the instant I walked in the door, I froze. It was a shock to my system but not in a bad way. She was a sweet little child with warm little arms and big, beseeching eyes. She wasn't a threat to me, and I didn't have to worry about trust with her. I liked it.

The other kids were quiet too, kind of shy, smiling hesitantly at me, and sticking together in a close-knit group. I liked that they were so loyal to each other, but it still bugged me. They were too quiet. Weren't little kids supposed to be loud? I'm sure some of them were quiet but how likely was it that seven random kids would be? It wasn't statistically possible, but this was not my area of expertise so maybe I was just looking for things to be wrong. I did still feel like I'd gotten hit by a train. I could read people well, and children were just tiny humans, right? But if I thought about it, their timidity made sense. This was a foster home. Kids didn't come to be in places like this because their lives had been fairytales, they came here because they had been nightmares.

I felt a strange stirring in my chest, one different than the persistent tightness I'd grown accustomed to as I realized I had much more in common with these kids than I was comfortable with.

Lydia showed me to the second-story bedroom I would be staying in without any fanfare, Shiri clutching at my leg all the while. While it wasn't big, it wasn't small either. It had beige walls and carpet, a twin bed, a dresser, and a desk in the corner. Its decor was the kind I'd seen in the bedrooms of little girls in most of the movies I'd watched about such things. The linens were full of pink and purple as were the knick knacks, stuffed animals, and other various things a little girl owned. I had to assume that about those things since my barracks at Fort Ares were drab gray and spartan, and the concept of owning or needing anything other than my portable personal weapons arsenal had been so terribly foreign when I first escaped it had struck me dumb. I guessed this room was Elizabeth's. Since she was Lydia and Rafe's biological child, it made the most sense that she'd have a room to herself. Of course, just because it made the most sense didn't mean I was right.

I told Lydia I would happily sleep on the couch instead of taking over someone else's bedroom, especially since I wouldn't actually be sleeping or staying; but she told me it was no problem, pulled me to the girls' room and moved her arm in a sweeping gesture. I looked inside and saw that not only was the room significantly larger than the one I was staying in, but there were three sets of bunk beds set up in it. I understood then, but I still didn't like it. Elizabeth shouldn't have had to give up her space for me.

"I thought you might want some space from the younger ones," Lydia said, disrupting my inner diatribe. Then she leaned toward me and lowered her voice, "Besides, you won't be here long and the less you're around them," she explained, her eyes darting down to Shiri and then at the wall to where she assumed the rest of the kids would be on the other side of it, "the less it will hurt when you go."

I glanced down at Shiri and then up into Lydia's eyes, seeing the sincerity there, and I understood because I agreed with her. Getting attached was a bad idea. I nodded and no longer argued with her about where I would be "sleeping."

After that, I helped Lydia make dinner. It was a simple affair: macaroni and cheese, canned ravioli, and frozen, mixed vegetables. Honestly, I didn't really approve. Kids needed better nutrition than canned, processed crap like that to grow, but I got it. Crap food was better than no food, and Lydia and Rafe did have nine mouths in total to feed, ten now that I was there. Even with state assistance and jobs that had to be tough to pull off. I knew what it felt like to struggle to keep yourself fed, to starve and not on purpose, and it was just me. I couldn't judge, but I was only human, mostly ... I hoped.

I had been hoping I'd start feeling more like myself after I'd eaten again, but I didn't. My brain was still an aching mass of jello in my skull and the dizziness from the night before was still lingering. This was not a good thing, not a good thing at all. Not once since I'd left Project Apotheosis had it taken me this long to recover from any sort of injury. Then again, I hadn't been injured since I left there, which was part of the point. Still, this was not normal, and it was starting to worry me. I needed to be at my best if I had to tangle with hunters and right now I wasn't. That wasn't my biggest concern though. As good as the scientists that had created me were in their field, there was still room for error. What if there was something seriously wrong with me, something that had previously gone undetected and was just now surfacing? I wasn't typically one for dramatics, but there was the possibility they had gotten a few wires crossed. I wouldn't let myself think like that, couldn't, just because of one little headache and some dizziness, but it was still something I had to be aware of.

I spent the time after dinner hacking into the Louisville PD database from the Jones' computer and altering the fingerprints attached to my mugshot. It was probably too late to do any good, but I still had to try. I would have gone into their digital evidence database and wiped out the recording of me admitting to Jasper that I was underage, but thought better of it. It would have been suspicious. My other option would have been to write a virus and let it loose on their mainframe, shutting their whole system down and erasing either everything on it or just a select few items including the evidence against me; but I wasn't willing to compromise even a few let alone hundreds of other cases just to cover my own ass. I had been an idiot, and now I was paying for it. I wouldn't make anyone else.

Once that was done, I lounged on the bed in my temporary room, staring up at the ceiling and stewing in my anger. It wasn't helping my headache any, but the whole thing was irritating the shit out of me. I still couldn't believe Jasper would fuck me over like that. He'd said he was impressed by how I'd adapted and made things work for me so I could survive. Obviously he'd just been blowing smoke up my ass, saying that shit so it would hurt that much more when he stabbed me in the back, and I had let him touch me! How could I have been so stupid?

I felt the burn of tears filling my eyes with a foreign tightness that infuriated me so much I wanted to scream, lash out, break things. I wanted to break him, but I would not give in to my emotions. I didn't cry, I couldn't cry. I had to push all that shit aside so I could concentrate on my exit strategy which may or may not end up being simple. I would deal with my rage and hurt later.

The thing of it was, I hadn't violated the Safe Citizens Act. I knew better than to put myself at risk like that. Christian had offered me the job at The Finish Line because we'd met at that poker game which happened to take place in a bar. He had just assumed since I'd gotten into that bar that I was of age and when I'd called him two days later to interview for the bartender position, I had lied and said my wallet had been stolen; that I couldn't get him copies of my driver's license or social security card until I received replacements. He'd told me it was fine and just kept me off the books until I could get those things to him, paying me in cash but deducting the appropriate taxes from my wages. I would be gone by the time he would start to get suspicious enough about me not getting copies of my documentation to him to ask questions.

When ten o'clock hit, I was counting down the minutes until my escape. It was almost tedious enough to lull me to sleep, but even though my head was still killing me, the hours of darkness from the night before had apparently been enough to satiate my sleep quota for the next couple weeks. What I really wished for was some pain killers. Unfortunately, over-the-counter drugs did nothing for me. Unless I had access to heavy duty, high dosage prescription medication - as in high enough to sedate a baby elephant (okay maybe that's a bit of an exaggeration, but pretty damn close) - the only hope of relief I had was mind over matter and considering it was my mind, in a certain sense, that was the issue it would be tougher than usual to put that into practice.

My musings on that were stopped short at the sound of the pitter-pattering of little feet on the carpet and the slow creak of my door opening. Moving my gaze to the entrance of the room, I saw little Shiri passing through it, doing her best to close the door quietly even though she had trouble reaching the knob. When she turned back around and started in the direction of the bed I noticed she looked very awake for a four year old at this time of night, and that her thumb was still tucked in her mouth. The only time I'd seen it out of it was during dinner. When Shiri reached the bed, she climbed up into it and snuggled herself into my side, hugging me tightly. She didn't say a word, just clung to me, and I found myself at a loss. Her touch still didn't bother me. I actually found a modicum of comfort in it, but I didn't understand why she would come in here to be with me, someone she barely knew.

"Shiri, sweetheart," I said quietly, "are you okay?"

She hugged me tighter before whispering, "Will you keep the monsters away?"

My mouth fell open. I knew she couldn't see my stupefied expression in the dark and I was glad. I didn't want to make her feel dumb, and I had no fucking idea what to do. Shiri obviously thought there were monsters somewhere in her room that she needed protection from.

"What monsters honey?" I asked gently. I generally rolled my eyes at people who used terms of endearment like that. Maybe I just got annoyed with them because I wished I had someone to call me "honey" or "sweetheart".

Nah. It's just lame.

"The ones under my bed," she whispered in answer, her warm breath tickling my neck where her head was nestled.

Oh, right. Little kids got scared of imaginary monsters didn't they? I felt my heart constrict in my chest, and I swear I melted but only a little. She was just so damn sweet and she was scared. No child should ever have to be frightened whether what they were frightened of was real or not.

"Alright, Shiri," I agreed, "I'll keep the monsters away."

"Thank you," she said in a small voice and I felt her smile against my skin before she stuck her thumb back in her mouth.

I couldn't resist smiling as well, bringing my hand up to stroke her feather soft hair. She sighed sleepily and not even a minute later she was out.

I lay there stroking Shiri's hair for a long time. It was a soothing action and it helped set my mind at ease. It did nothing for the ache in my head, the persistent itch, or the tightness in my chest but it made me feel better in a different way. I was able to focus more coherently on what I needed to accomplish when the clock struck midnight, which according to the alarm on the bedside table would be in thirty-eight minutes. Really, everything I needed to do was old hat by now, things I could do in my sleep, but the threat of being dragged back to the place I'd been created had never weighed on me quite so heavily and I couldn't afford to let the fact that I had done this dozens of times make me arrogant in any sense of the word. Arrogance was something that often led to one's downfall and, while the things I could do that no one else could bred it to a certain degree, I was fallible. That had been proven too many times in the last several weeks, far more than I was comfortable with. I was supposed to be perfect, I had been made to be perfect and I had to be if I really wanted this life of mine - a life that belonged to me, one where I could decide how I lived, where I didn't have to use my freak abilities to hurt people or endure endless hurt myself just to learn how to use those freak abilities. But because all of it was old hat, it would make it easier to handle if I got thrown any curve balls.

Eight minutes later the door to the house banged open and loud, shuffling, uneven footsteps could be heard moving through the house. The pungent scents of alcohol, body odor, and the race track assaulted my nose and I wished, not for the first time, that I could shut my keen sense of smell off or at least dial it down to that of a normal human. It appeared Rafe Jones had finally come home and drunk no less. I huffed in disgust. The guy had left his wife to take care of eight kids by herself all fucking day while he gambled and got shitfaced. What a dick. I listened as he stumbled to the couch - he hadn't taken enough steps to make it to the master bedroom nor had the sound of his footsteps gone far enough east - and passed out.

Shiri shuddered in her sleep, and I pulled her closer to me even though she was already so tight against me it was more of a squeeze than anything else. Thirty minutes later, she was still wrapped around me, and I didn't know what to do. It was time for me to go, but Shiri had come to me because she was scared. Maybe her monsters were imaginary, but I didn't like the idea of leaving a little kid in the middle of the night, especially after I'd made a promise to keep her safe, whether what I was keeping her safe from was real or not. As I held her small frame against mine, I thought about what it would have been like if I'd had someone to hold me like this when I was her age, and I knew I couldn't leave her. Not like this. I was sure I still had a little time before my whereabouts were discovered and that gave me a little wiggle room. I could wait a couple more hours. A couple more hours wouldn't hurt anything.

oOo

Nearly two hours later, I felt wet warmth soak my abdomen and the unmistakable scent of urine filled the air. Shiri had wet the bed. There were so many reasons it could have happened, but none of them mattered. Not when she startled awake at the feel of her cold, sopping pajamas and the soaked bed sheets, and looked up at me with those big, blue eyes that had filled with tears and embarrassment.

"Hey, hey," I cooed, stroking her hair and then dragging the pads of my thumbs underneath her eyes to wipe away her tears, "it's okay, Shiri. It's okay. Let's get you cleaned up."

Crawling out of bed, I beckoned for her to come to me and after only a little coaxing and encouragement, she did. I scooped her up easily, hitching her on my hip and taking her to the nearest bathroom. Setting her down on the toilet, I turned to leave so I could find some clean things for her to change into, but she grabbed my hand and squeezed remarkably hard for someone her age and size. She didn't want me to go. She didn't say it, but the look in those eyes of hers said it all. They were wide, doe-like, pleading.

"I'll be right back," I promised with a gentle smile. "I just want to get you some clean pajamas."

I could tell she still didn't want me to leave but she loosened her grip on my hand.

I was in and out of the girls' room very quickly, making use of how light on my feet I was; amongst other things, and returned to the bathroom to find Shiri still sitting on the toilet. She was fidgeting up a storm and I didn't blame her. Wearing wet anything, aside from a swimsuit, was annoying as hell, so I turned on the hot water tap in the sink so it would heat up and then tugged her pajama bottoms down. What I saw made me wish I hadn't eaten dinner.

Shiri had bruises on her legs … bruises I didn't like the look of at all. Out of a need driven by mounting dread, I pulled her pajama shirt over her head to reveal bruises on her torso and arms as well, all in various stages of healing. She also had scars in varying shades of pink in too many places on her little body. Maybe I didn't know much about kids, but I did know that they could be rambunctious and rough at times, especially little boys of which there were two in the house. Maybe that was all there was to the explanation for Shiri's bruises and the cuts that would have produced those scars, but I also knew some things about wounds. The amount of force it would have taken to cause the extent of some of the bruising far exceeded what any of the children or even Lydia could exert. Rafe, on the other hand, was an entirely different story. From what I had seen of him in the pictures around the house and knew of his job as a welder at the shipyard, he was perfectly capable of dishing out that kind of damage. I couldn't just jump to conclusions though.

"What happened to you, sweetheart?" I asked softly as I wet a washcloth and set about carefully cleaning her up, mindful of being extra gentle around the tender, bruised flesh.

Shiri just looked at me, her face and voice almost matter-of-fact, "The monsters."

Maybe Shiri's monsters weren't so imaginary.

oOo

Sunday

I held Shiri all throughout the night, doing my best to push all my fear and worry over my own fate to the back of my still foggy and aching brain, the occasional trickle of blood leaking out of my left ear every now and again. It was quite possibly one of the stupidest things I'd ever done, aside from letting Jasper fucking Cullen ever lay a finger on me, but I had to find out for sure what the hell was going on in this house. I couldn't just leave with the idea that this sweet little girl and the six other innocent and endearing children I had come to know might have been being abused hanging over my head. I had to know. I wouldn't ever be able to rest easy until I did.

Shiri slept until 9:00 am. I didn't know if that was late for a four year old or not, but I didn't much care because it genuinely seemed like she needed it, and I wanted her to have that. More than that, I wanted to be the one to give it to her, and she seemed to need me to be able to sleep well. Unfortunately, because she slept so late, I didn't get an opportunity to meet Rafe face-to-face and make any observations that might confirm my suspicions. All I could do was listen as he interacted with his wife as she made him breakfast and as they ate it together. While he'd never in a million years be nominated for Husband of the Year, it wasn't enough for me to go on without seeing the body language to match.

Despite the fact that Rafe came home shitfaced drunk at 11:30 the night before, and must have had one hell of a hangover, according to the information I'd gleaned from his breakfast conversation with Lydia he had to be at the docks at 8:30 that morning to work a twelve hour shift. That gave me time to do some detective work.

My first order of business - finding out anything and everything I could about Rafe Jones, which would include yet again hacking into the Louisville PD database to see if he had a record. Before I did that though, Shiri wanted me to eat breakfast with her, help her pick out her outfit for the day, and play dress up and Barbies. After an hour and forty-five minutes of this and a brief phone conversation with Mr. Conroy to reassure him that I was doing fine, I had to find a gentle way of telling her I needed to run some errands. I couldn't use the Jones' computer to do my research on Rafe because if Lydia somehow managed to catch me, I didn't want to have to answer any uncomfortable questions before I was ready to ask uncomfortable questions of my own.

Making use of the University of Louisville's Ekstrom Library, I found out everything there was to know about Rafe Jones from the fact that he'd been born in Baltimore, Maryland and his father had relocated them to Louisville when he was four after his parents split to the fact that his favorite snack food was Salsa Verde Doritos. Disappointingly enough, on digital record his father appeared to be a mild-mannered man with no record and no propensity for controlling or abusive behaviors. His mother, whom he spent his summers in Baltimore with up through his senior year in high school, appeared to be equally innocuous; and aside from a few speeding and parking tickets and a drunk and disorderly when he was 22, Rafe Jones appeared to be Joe Normal. None of it jived with my instincts, however, and Shiri's bruises didn't just magically appear on her body. When it came down to it, I had to go with my gut and do what had to be done to get to the bottom of this because I was running out of time, and I needed this situation to be resolved before I took off. Plus, the longer I stayed in the Jones' house, if Project Apotheosis had caught wind of my whereabouts and had already sent a team of hunters to retrieve me, my presence in their home put them in danger. I wasn't going to worry about that too much though … yet.

While the people that had trained me had done their best to drill into my head that collateral damage was an acceptable risk, they had also instilled in me the strict sense of how to know when it was acceptable; so, they would do their best not to hurt anyone they didn't have to to bring me in, especially if it involved little kids but if things got complicated they would scrap that idea in a heartbeat.

I returned to the Jones house at 2 o'clock that afternoon and steeled myself to do two very difficult things. The first was to see if I could get any of the rest of the kids to both show me any injuries they might have and tell me how they'd gotten them. The second was to confront Lydia. I was not looking forward to either of them.

Fortunately for me, because of the still humid and hot early September weather, the clothes the other five kids were wearing made it easier for me to see if they had bruises and cuts like Shiri's. Jax had a bruise on his shoulder that was yellowing but still purple enough for me to tell that the impact to it could have been hard enough to crack his collarbone. He wasn't moving like the bone was broken but the range of motion in his arm was stiff and while he didn't cry or complain about it, I knew he was in pain. These were things I should have noticed the day before. Then again, the day before, when Mr. Conroy had dropped me off, they'd all been wearing clothing that covered any parts of their bodies that were injured. No, I still should have noticed.

You're fucking slipping, Bella, I chastised myself. I could blame all this on my continued state of disorientation but that was no excuse. I had been trained to fight through physical states of pain and injury of all kinds, including my current one, to be a good soldier. Maybe I didn't want to be a soldier, good, bad or in between, maybe that's why I had escaped; but the fact was, I needed to be a good soldier to stay on the outside. Catch-22 had been the theme of my life for the last five years. The fog hugging my mind shouldn't have affected my observational skills.

It was the same with all the other kids. They had little injuries that were noticeable just outside of their clothes, injuries no one else would question because the little bits that were visible looked just like any other bump or bruise a child might incur during playtime … unless you knew as much about injuries as I did. I didn't need to ask to see if there were more bruises underneath their clothes because I already knew the answer nor did I need to ask them any questions about how they'd gotten them. It didn't seem right to put them on the spot or make them relive any trauma they'd been through. I knew how much that sucked. Their eerie, abnormal reticence now made a hell of a lot more sense after seeing all of that.

Around 2:30, Lydia set all the kids up with a movie in the living room and headed to the kitchen to clean up the remnants of lunch, presenting me with the perfect opportunity to confront her about what I was now certain was happening in her home.

I approached her slowly, purposely making noise as I came up behind her so she'd know I was coming. The likelihood that Rafe was confining the abuse to the children was slim. Lydia was probably just as much a victim as they were, unless I was reading the whole situation wrong and Lydia was the abuser. At the rate I was going, that was entirely likely. Either way, I had to handle this delicately.

"Lydia," I said just loudly enough for her to hear me over the running of the water as she filled the kitchen sink in preparation to wash some dishes.

Lydia put down the pot she'd just picked up to run under the faucet and turned to face me, smiling. It was a decent imitation of bright but I saw it for what it was this time, the emptiness in her eyes stark and telling. "What can I do for you, Jane?"

I met her gaze evenly, my tone serious and unwavering as I answered, "Shiri slept with me last night-"

"Oh, that's nice, dear," she interrupted.

"She wet the bed," I intoned strongly, conveying that I didn't wish to be interrupted again but at the same time keeping my voice gentle. It was a hard line to walk but I managed. "When I went to clean her up, I noticed she had some bruises."

Lydia's eyes widened subtly. She swallowed nervously, her heart rate speeding up, and she twisted her hands once with the dish towel. It would have been a mundane gesture but her hands weren't wet. When she spoke, her voice came out sounding as though her mouth was dry, her tone uneasy though she tried to hide it, "Oh you know kids, they bump into things and they play hard. Jax and Matt play rough with her sometimes and Shiri's clumsy too."

Bullshit! I scoffed, managing to keep my face patient and non-judgmental rather than scornful. I hadn't seen Shiri stumble once in the time I'd been here and I hadn't seen Jax or Matt roughhouse at all, either with each other or any of the other kids, since I'd gotten here either.

"There are an awful lot of them, Lydia," I said, my tone unwavering but still gentle. I didn't want to upset her anymore than necessary since I was now certain this house was not the relatively harmless place it had appeared to be when I first arrived. It just reinforced the simple truth that things were almost never as they seemed. "And the other kids have them too."

"Like I said, kids can be rough when they play," she said through gritted teeth. She was more nervous and apprehensive than angry but she was doing a great job of faking it. It was only further proof that I was right. If they really were just injuries incurred through childhood roughhousing, she wouldn't have any reason to be defensive. Then again, the mere implication that some sort of abuse was happening in her home when it wasn't certainly would be enough to draw that out. However, if that was the case she had no reason to be nervous.

I was frustrated now. I felt bad for pushing the issue, if only because Lydia was looking so damn fragile, but this situation needed to be resolved and quickly. "I'm not trying to make you upset or to turn your life upside down. I'm just concerned."

"Trying to upset me seems like exactly what you're trying to do and you're doing it for absolutely no reason!" she snapped. Her tone and the look on her face suggested she was trying desperately to keep up her angry façade but she wasn't successful.

"I know a thing or two about bruises, Lydia," I told her calmly though on the inside I was anything but, "and the ones on those precious little kids in that room over there," I gestured toward where they were watching the movie, "are not from run of the mill child antics. Nor is that bruise on your elbow."

I said it softly, my voice still gentle as I pointed out where the sleeve of her 3/4 length shirt had ridden up to reveal a nasty looking injury that was fresher than any of the ones I'd seen on the kids. I had no doubt that the tip of one of the bones in her elbow was fractured and I was more than a little sympathetic and empathetic. It took a lot of self-control to hide the kind of pain she must have been in, to fight through it like it wasn't there. I knew that from experience. I wondered how many years it had taken her to master that. Now, onto the really hard question, "Did Rafe do that to you? To them?"

Lydia's eyes did not widen subtly this time; they nearly bugged out of her head. Her mouth dropped open, shutting, opening, shutting ... much as mine had early Saturday morning when Christian had asked me out. "No!" she nearly shrieked in horror, naked fear clouding her eyes and twisting her features. "Of course not!"

I eyed her carefully, trying to figure out what to do next. I wanted to shake her and demand that she tell me the truth as I did it, but I knew that wasn't a good idea. She was a victim of domestic abuse and I didn't want to upset her anymore than I already had. This wasn't easy for either of us, I couldn't make it unnecessarily harder. Lydia didn't deserve that. She didn't deserve any of it. None of them did.

My gaze remained steady on hers and it made her uncomfortable, so much so that she broke eye contact, dropping her eyes to the floor. I couldn't let her pull away from this though. Maybe she wasn't ready to admit she needed help. Maybe it wasn't my place to intervene, but I could not let this go. Somehow the abuse had gone unnoticed by social services. Maybe that wasn't something that could have been helped. Programs like that were often understaffed and the staff they did have was generally overworked. No matter how it had happened, I refused to let the welfare of these kids continue to slip through the cracks whether it made Lydia uncomfortable or not; so I gripped her chin between my fingers and forced her to look at me. "Tell me the truth, Lydia."

My tone wasn't quite so gentle this time. She needed to understand that she wasn't going to get out of this, but when I said the words her gaze hardened, defiance flashing in her eyes, "I am," she said stonily.

I couldn't stop the impatience and frustration mounting within me. I was trying to remember that this wasn't her fault, that she had the mindset of a victim, and that fear was playing a big part in her stubbornness, but it was hard. Still, I forcefully shoved it back.

"What is it, Lydia?" I asked, sounding patient, impatient, and just a little desperate all at once. "Has he told you that you deserve it?" It was just a shot in the dark but from the way she flinched the slightest bit, I'd hit the nail on the head. "No matter what he says or what you believe, you don't, and those kids sure as hell don't. At the very least, some part of you knows that just as well as I do. Even if you don't give a shit about the others, Elizabeth is your flesh and blood. The way you feel every time he hits you, that's how she feels when he hits her or sees him hit you. That is how she feels every day and that is how she will feel every day for the rest of her life if you don't do something! Just tell me the truth, Lydia."

Tears filled her eyes and she sucked in an agonized breath, "He doesn't mean it!" she wailed. "He doesn't! He loves us but his job ... he gets so stressed! He loves us," she repeated weakly.

I sighed and continued to observe the miserable woman before me. She was so broken, in heart and spirit. It was painful to see and the whole thing made me sick.

"What are you going to do now?" Lydia asked, her tone frightened and cautious. She refused to meet my eyes.

I waited until she looked up at me, which took a full minute of silence on my part, and we locked gazes. "Nothing ... yet."

oOo

I left after Lydia finally admitted to me that Rafe was responsible for both the kids' and her injuries. My head was spinning with the information I'd uncovered. Sure, I'd pretty much known my instincts about the situation were spot on, but having it confirmed was still like getting punched in the gut. Add to that my ever-persistent headache and how off-kilter I felt, the restlessness, the itch, and the tightness in my chest that I'd been feeling for weeks now and what I wanted more than anything was to put a fucking bullet between Rafe Jones' eyes, preferably after I'd broken several bones and gotten creative with a knife or possibly a blow torch.

I needed time to think about how I was going to handle this clusterfuck, to strategize and make plans; so I went to the only place in Louisville that I knew would bring me a modicum of peace and a clear enough head to figure things out - Wildfire's stall at Churchill Downs. I gathered up a curry comb, a stiff brush, a hoof pick, and a mane and tail comb before quickly vaulting over the stall, and landing soundlessly beside my equine buddy. He didn't startle or spook, he'd known I was there from the moment I'd walked into the barn, maybe even before that. I can't explain how I knew this but I did know - Wildfire had felt my presence just as I had felt his. It was very similar to how I'd felt when Jasper had walked into The Finish Line two days ago, only without the sexual component obviously.

God, has it only been two days? It seemed like a fucking lifetime since I'd felt Jasper's eyes on me. For the first time since I'd woken up in the jail cell the day before, I didn't feel blistering rage when I thought of him. I was too consumed with my anger at Rafe to think much on how he had betrayed me.

"Hey buddy," I greeted softly, running my hand down Wildfire's neck and giving him a quick scratch on the withers. I set to work with the curry comb and spoke my thoughts aloud to the best friend I'd ever had, "I'm not sure what to do. There are a couple ways I can try to fix this but I'm not sure which way to go. The smartest thing for me to do for my safety would be to call Mr. Conroy and tell him everything Lydia told me as well as everything I found out on my own. I know he would believe me and that he would do his best to take care of it, but what if my taking off affects his job in such a way that he won't be able to help them?" I asked, still running the curry comb over him with my right hand and trailing the fingers of my left through his coat. "Even if my leaving doesn't affect his job, what if, for whatever reason, Mr. Conroy can't get an investigation up and running or if he does, what if it falls through? Lydia won't file charges or probably even admit what he's done to anyone else. How can I take the risk of that happening?"

Wildfire nuzzled me when I moved around toward his shoulder with the intention of starting in on him with the stiff brush, and I let him for a long time, moving my hands from his nose up to scratch behind his ears and back again. Surprisingly enough, I found that I liked snuggling but only with little kids and animals. I found that very bizarre but not entirely unwelcome. "I could stay and take care of it myself so I know that the kids will be safe but I'm not sure how I would do it, and it's so risky, Wildfire. I should have been gone by now. I should have put Louisville behind me sixteen hours ago," I whispered, moving in close to him and leaning my head against his shoulder. The idea of leaving him was painful to me, more painful than I ever would have thought. Wildfire seemed to agree if his snort was any indication. "I don't want to leave you either, buddy. I love you so much," I reassured him sadly. "I've just worked so hard to keep out of their reach and the idea of it all crashing down around me now … I don't want to go back there, Wildfire. I can't go back there."

Tears welled in my eyes but I did nothing to stem their flow this time. I hated crying, loathed it, but it seemed appropriate so I let the tears fall. I remained silent as I picked his hooves, still thinking, and couldn't find the words as I combed his mane and tail. Then I took him out to the cross-ties, saddled him up, led him to a practice track, and rode, letting the smooth rhythm of first his trot, then his canter, and finally his gallop lull me into a place where I could do some genuine soul-searching. I rode for nearly two hours, alternating between a walk, a trot, a canter, and a gallop so I wouldn't overwork him before taking him back to his barn and giving him a bath. I tied his lead rope in a slip knot in front of his stall as I quickly cleaned it and then added fresh grass hay to his feeding trough and fresh water to his water bucket. Curling up in the corner of his stall and tucking my knees under my chin, he soon lay down beside me - a sign of serious trust - nudging me with his nose. I looked him in the eyes.

"I know what I'm going to do now, buddy," I told him, stroking his jaw. "I'm going to fight for those kids. No matter what happens to me, I'm going to fight for them because they don't have anyone else to do it. They're just kids - they can't do it for themselves yet and they shouldn't have to. They need to be fought for, to know that someone is willing to do that for them, to know that someone thinks they're worth fighting for, and what use is being a genetically-engineered badass if you can't use your powers for the greater good every once in awhile?"

Wildfire nudged me with his nose again and I took that as his sign of approval. I smiled at him and pressed a kiss to his forehead, snuggling with him for as long as I could. The longer I stayed with him, the more certain I was of my decision. What happened to me didn't matter. The only thing that did matter was what happened to those kids. I would help them. I would make sure they were safe and if I got caught because of it, I was okay with that. I didn't want to go back, I would never want to go back, but I'd rather it be for a good cause and on my own terms than anything else. Besides, it's not like I was just going to roll over, hold out my hands for them to shackle and go quietly. That wasn't my style. I would fight, I would fight hard, and there was a good chance I would get away. If Project Apotheosis was coming for me at all; they weren't yet here. I still had time and I was going to use it well.

I had a plan ...

oOo

A/N: Bella always seems to have a plan. Does anyone else think she's starting to sound like a cylon in that way? Alright, that's my one BSG fangirl moment for now. You know if I start using 'frak' I've truly gone on a trip to geekville, but I'm okay with being a geek. I came to terms with it long ago. :)

This chapter was full of some heavy stuff and it was a tough one to write for that reason, so I hope I did it well and as respectfully as a person can when discussing a situation like this. This is one of those chapters that I wrote weeks before I posted my author's note, and I didn't make any changes to it in light of the concerns that were brought to me even though they were on a slightly different tack.

The next chapter is the one you've all been waiting for. You finally find out how Bella ends up in the morgue! Is anyone excited? Relieved that the wait is finally over? Loosening the grip you had on the knife you were considering using to stab me in the eye for making you wait for so long, perhaps? :)

Take care everyone. Until next time ... :)