Hey there.

If you're still reading this, I would like to apologize for this horribly long absence. I pretty much stopped writing for three years and the longer it got, the tougher it became to return to writing. I had been slowly easing into writing once again when I received a PM from Karkoolka and that just prodded me enough to pick up where I left off. So, thank you to all of you who have been reading this and especially the ones who have favorited/followed/reviewed: fallingstar22, Liljayy0717, Rebel Willows, merlinsaprentice, Crazyjess09 and jaffa30.

This is the point where this story actually delves into the original idea that I had for it (five years ago, haha) and is why I have bumped up the rating to M. [More about this, at the end of the chapter.]

This is unbeta'ed at this point so all mistakes remain mine.

With all that said, I hope all of you are doing okay in these crazy times. Here's Hunter for you.

[Trigger Warning: Referenced Domestic Violence and Murder.]

Hunter

My past has tasted bitter
For years now
So I wield an iron fist
Grace is just weakness
Or so I've been told
I've been cold, I've been merciless
But the blood on my hands scares me to death
Maybe I'm waking up today

I'll be good, I'll be good
And I'll love the world, like I should
I'll be good, I'll be good
I'll be good, I'll be good

- I'll Be Good,

Jaymes Young.

"They are friends of mine." Another shirt found its place in the duffel bag that was being haphazardly stuffed to the brim. "William and Joanna Bradley. It won't be for long, I promise–" A pair of pants now. "–but only till mummy can... figure things out, okay?"

I nodded.

"Hand me your t-shirt, sweetie." There was a smile on her face, and for a moment it overshadowed the black eye and the bruised cheek.

T-shirt. I quickly hopped off the bed where I had ensconced myself to retrieve the t-shirt in question. I lost sight of her for only a second, my back turning on her as my hands gathered the crumpled item of clothing. It was one tiny second – an infinitesimal fragment of time – and yet, when I turned around to where she was standing, there was nothing but emptiness; a void.

Panic started to churn in the pit of my stomach and a scream had just begun to form on my lips when—

She was back where she had been moments ago but— but her eyes were colorless and lifeless and stayed peeled open and—

Red blinded me, a gaping wound in her chest that soaked her shirt in its many shades and—

And then, I screamed.

Consciousness returns to me all at once: my eyes burning open and my breath catching in my throat. There's a tight persistent knot in my chest and I— There's no air.

Breathe.

I have to remind myself to breathe; slow and steady. Breathe. Survive. That wasn't real. That wasn't real—

In.

The world around me clears a little; its blurry edges consolidating into sharper lines. There's more definition, more meaning. It was only a nightmare—

Out.

My skin is damp and the nauseating stench of my own sweat lingers in the air. My t-shirt – ah, fuck – is plastered to my body and my blanket is pooled around my legs. All of that is in the past and the past can't hurt me (can, it can, it's here). No—

In.

It's still dark which means I haven't been sleeping for too long and my throat isn't sore which means I haven't been screaming in my sleep. That's good; a positive—

Out.

There's movement beside me, the slightest of sounds and— relief floods me at once, breath and life returning to my body, the panic dissipating and fizzling out. I'm not alone, not now, not here, not tonight. Tori's here and things will be... okay.

I force out a breath, dispel the last fragments of the nightmare from my mind. There's no point in thinking about it. Living through those memories in my sleep is enough and I really don't need to – or want to – ignite them in my wakeful moments.

Tori shifts again, tosses and twists till she turns in my direction. She's still asleep which serves as yet another affirmation that I haven't been screaming, or lunging at ghosts in the dark.

I find myself watching her, noting how her chest rises and falls with each breath. A stray lock of hair falls on her forehead and I have the strongest urge to reach out and tuck it behind her ear; just reach out and pull her closer.

It would be a distraction and it would work on other days but—

But a photograph of the bastard who was responsible for every fucking thing that had gone wrong in my life had been slid underneath my door.

"I don't think you should be running away, Hunter."

Tori's words echo in my ears and I find myself stealing yet another glance at her. That is slowly ceasing to be an option and without that – running and hiding – I don't know what to do.

I don't know who I am.

She looks peaceful as she sleeps and I unconsciously wonder when was the last time I slept with no weight burying me alive. It's been years; a dry laugh escapes my lips at that thought. I have somehow miraculously managed to stay ahead of it all for all these years and now it's all coming crashing down. Had to happen someday, I suppose.

The Bradleys had been pretty confident after— I really don't want to think about this. Or that day and the cold hand and the blood— No.

Tori stirs again, rolls over, and comes to rest a little too close, her breath on my neck. I risk another glance at her, tearing my gaze away from the ceiling that isn't doing much to quell my storm of thoughts. If everything crashes and burns – which it will – I will lose her.

And that thought fazes me more than it should. I'm not the sentimental kind – never have been – and I have always lived life knowing just how precarious it is. Everything you know and love can be taken away in an instant; gone, just gone. I know it, I have lived through it on more than one occasion. I should be prepared to lose it all: not just Tori but the Academy and the job and my students. And I am, I think I am. I know I won't break if I do end up losing everything... but that doesn't mean I want things to end that way.

Maybe it's time to do things differently. I should fight, I think. I shouldn't hide in the shadows and wait for things to happen; I have done that twice before and all that gave me was dead parents.

Two dead mothers and one dead father.

Maybe I should try to find out who slid that photograph underneath my door. A good place to start would be to find where it was taken because it sure as hell wasn't the home – that was no home – I had spent the first twelve years of my life.

And lost a mother.

Maybe it's time for me to… for me to… my mind shuts down mid-sentence, mid-thought, my eyes leaden and heavy and I give in to the overwhelming force and let sleep claim me.

The next time I wake up, it's from the gentlest of touches on my cheek. It's a strange sensation but not unwelcome; not at all. It beats waking up in a cold sweat, choking for air, by miles.

"Hey." Tori's voice is soft; gentler than the palm that is caressing my cheek. She is still beside me – lying on her stomach, propped up on her elbows – and makes no effort to leave either.

I blink at her, my eyes still adjusting to the light filtering through the window. A half-awake groan escapes my lips as my senses slowly drift towards consciousness.

Tori looks at me with even softer eyes; gentler than the voice that had soothed me out of sleep.

"Good morning," I return the warmth with a smile.

She beams at me, her eyes lighting up and her fingers brushing off the mop of hair from my forehead.

While our... relationship has never been simple – or quite honestly, appropriate – whatever it has transcended into becoming now is even more confusing and complex.

Kissing each other at will, fuck my life.

But well, who am I kidding? The reason why we are here is me. It has always been me. She is not the one who is scared of committing. She is not the one who is refusing to allow this – whatever the fuck this is – to become something more. That's all me; it has always been me.

Why am I doing this to her?

Tori's voice cuts through my thoughts, "So, 'Ranger Reunion' tonight." There are air quotes and rolled eyes as she uses Dustin's coined term.

I should laugh, react to that statement appropriately. But that asphyxiating feeling from last night is back, one blasted realization after realization hitting me. I am doing this to her. I am dragging her through hell and back and she... is still here.

"Hunter?"

I find myself pulling away, my stomach churning with abhorrence and disgust. I am up and about in no time at all, pacing the cold floor with frantic steps. Have I become so calloused and selfish that I have forgotten to see beyond my own interests and my own scheming ways to keep my heart intact and protected?

"Hunter?"

"God, Tor. I'm so sorry." The words come out in one breath; rushed and hurried and not entirely conscious. But they are out there: in the space that stretches between us, and she looks at me with creased brows and confused eyes.

"What... what for?"

I let out a humorless laugh and the lines in her forehead furrow further. Does she really not understand – see – what I have done? Or has she chosen to paper over all the cracks and take whatever crap I hand out to her?

"Hunter?" There's exasperation in her tone now, her eyes fixed on me in a pointed glare.

There's a moment of silence, of us just looking at each other and then there's a shift. Her gaze softens and she moves – faster than my eyes can comprehend – and comes to a stop before me.

I draw back involuntarily but she doesn't waver. Instead, she takes a step closer, all the while keeping her eyes on me; persistent and determined. Her fingers wrap themselves around my wrists and she presses against me. I take in a sharp breath at the closeness – intimacy – of the situation, which is stupid because hell, we've been sleeping with limbs tangled for months and have been kissing each other—

"Talk to me." Her words are so sincere and earnest that my heart clenches. "Please."

This is what I could be losing – who I could be losing.

And yet, all this time I had been ignorant – had chosen to be ignorant – to what she wanted. I let out the next words without much thought, "Why are you still here, Tori?"

There's confusion in her expression for a millisecond but when it clears there's only indignation and... a flash of hurt? I know she'll lash out – she sure as hell deserves to – and say something that reflects the look on her face but— "I told you this yesterday, Hunter." She doesn't sound angry at all; she just sounds tired. "Maybe you don't remember because you were drunk–" I open my mouth in protest but she shakes her head with enough intent to shut me up. "–but I am going to say it to you again. And again and again and again if you bring this up in the future—"

"Please don't say that." I manage to cut her off this time because what she said yesterday makes no sense at all. I perfectly remember it, by the way, because how the hell could I not?

"...There's nothing in this world that would make me look at you differently."

It's wishful and stupid and doe-eyed and she doesn't even know what I have done.

But whose fault is that?

The indignation is back in her eyes and she takes a step back, yanking her hands from my wrists and expanding the distance between us. "Why not, Hunter?" She crosses her arms over her chest. "Why the fuck not? Just because you hide from your feelings and refuse to let anything come out of this doesn't mean I have to as well, right?"

Fuck.

She isn't wrong, not at all. But... it still hurts; stings. My face probably screams so because instantly, Tori lets out a hollow curse, her fists curling by her sides. "I didn't mean to..." she starts but trails off, her eyes searching as they remained fixed on me.

I shake my head, give her a feeble smile, and hope she can't read how sorry I feel for myself and my pathetic inadequateness at feelings and emotions. "You're right." My admission is soft and clearly unexpected because her eyes widen immediately. "I– I told you we'll figure this out. Together–" Her eyes light up at the mention of that and I can't help but think that maybe I'm finally doing something right; it sure feels so. "–and I meant it. It's just that... the photograph turned up and– it's easy for me to hide. It's what I know how to do best and... I'm sorry."

Wow, that was strangely coherent. Well done, Hunter.

She gives me half a smile, shakes her head a little, and reaches out for me, her fingers intertwining with mine. "There's no pressure, okay?"

I nod, take a deep breath and tell her before my mind decides to play more games, "I had a nightmare last night—"

"But, I—"

I shake my head, cut her off with a wry smile. "There was no screaming involved, sorry couldn't spoil your sleep."

"Hunter." She glares at me disapprovingly and so I tone down on the dry humor.

"It's okay, Tor. It's fine. I even slept after that so... it's fine." My words sound hollow, even to my own ears.

No wonder they do nothing to convince her as the disapproval on her face swiftly makes way for concern. Her voice is soft as she begins, "Hunter..."

Something shifts in me when she says that; says my name of all the things in the world with so much sincerity and concern and... love. She deserves the truth and I owe it to her and without thinking of the consequences—

"Listen." I tighten my fingers around hers, draw in a deep breath, and force myself to meet her eyes. "There's just a lot of..." Violence and loss and crap. "...just a lot in my past. It's not pretty and I don't like to talk about it because I have it better now – so much better – and... there's no point in dwelling, you know."

Her eyes soften as she nods at me slowly. Her grasp is steady and she waits, ever so patiently, as I collect my thoughts. I don't even know where to go next from here. I want to tell her but it's all jumbled inside me and—

"Hey." She lets go of my hand and cups my cheeks. "No pressure, okay?" she repeats and I feel some of the tension leaving my body.

"I don't know where to start," I admit quietly.

"How about the nightmare?"

My eyes fly to meet hers— No, not this surely. I want to scream because the memories I have been trying to suppress from last night are suddenly too close, too menacing and I fear they'll break through the fragile wall of protection I have built around myself. And I don't want to tell her or anyone about that night or—

But I have to tell her. She needs to know and—

"My father killed my mother."

It comes out faster – cruder – than I intend for it to, and I physically recoil. Of all the ways I could have told her about everything, this definitely wasn't one.

Tori's face rapidly changes color and hell, I can't even blame her. This is obviously too much information with too little warning.

What the hell was I thinking?

I don't think the silence spans for long but it is enough for my mind to bring back memories from its deepest crevices. I have been fighting since last night and I just can't anymore—

"I was twelve." The images flash before my eyes, like a cursed painting that has just started to come to life. "It was cold, really cold—" I pull myself away from her grasp; it somehow feels too much now and all I want to do is sink to the ground and pull my knees to my chest and disappear.

"—and there was a noise from the living room." So faint, I shouldn't even have heard it. "My father— that man... that bastard used to hit her and..." Hit me, but that's another can of worms and I can't explain everything at the same time. It's draining, physically and mentally. "He'd hit her," I continue. "Noises from the living room – cries from the living room – were common but that day—"

My legs buckle and I let myself collapse to the floor, drawing my knees closer and wrapping my arms around them as tightly as I can. Tori is quick to react and falls to the floor immediately. Her hands hover for a moment; for permission, I realize after a second and I give in. She gently pries my hands from the rigid clasp and takes them in hers.

I draw in a breath, just enough to get the next words out. "I knew that day was different. Knew it as soon as I heard it— and I ran but..." It was too late.

I'm painfully aware of the tremble that has crept in: my hands aquiver and my body shaking violently. I suck in another desperate breath and throw back my head, my eyes shutting in an attempt to cast out the inchoate memories that are beginning to take form; cursed painting coming to life.

"I'm really sorry, Hunter." For someone who has been told so much, Tori sounds surprisingly calm and collected. But then, she didn't exactly have the dream childhood— "I'm so sorry."

I try to bring my eyes to meet hers but it's all too raw now; exposed and vulnerable. And I'm afraid if I look at her – see the way she looks at me – I'll break. So I focus on my trembling body and quavering hands – things that I can control – and concentrate on bringing that to a stop.

But Tori has other plans and with a firm squeeze she tells me, "You're not him, Hunter."

My eyes jerk up to meet hers; how she knows or understands the fear that I don't voice even to myself is unbeknownst to me. She sounds so certain that I almost want to believe her but she doesn't know what I know, doesn't know everything that I have done, doesn't know about the blood on my hands—

"But I am."

"No, you are not." She looks at me with indignant eyes; a steely stubbornness. She does not know— Then: "You are not, Hunter. You... you are a good man. You are not him, you never were and you never can be—"

My hands start to shake again, phantom blood on them and haunted images dance in front of my eyes: the ones from before and then— and then more recent ones. Almost killing the Winds, the island, almost killing Blake—

"Shut up."

The words fall out of clenched teeth before I can rein them in; hostile and ugly. My voice buzzes in my ears as alarm slowly creeps into my system, the full weight of it slowly creeping in.

There's a moment of nothingness: she remains rooted in front of me and I continue to stare at her, panic and guilt lashing dangerously within me. And then her eyes become misty and her face contorts and she moves, draws back and pulls away and—

Fuck fuck fuck.

She is on her feet at once, barely acknowledging my presence as she gathers her shoes from one corner of the room—

She's leaving.

I have to apologize; I have to. I pull myself together and lift myself off the ground. It's a desperate request, "Tori."

She doesn't even look at me, "No." Her voice shakes and bores a hole through me, self-loathing lurching within me. I clench my teeth together and then bite on my tongue, so hard that it draws blood. "Not now, okay?" She just sounds tired now. "I'll go back home, take a shower and meet you at the woods and then—"

"I am—"

She cuts me off immediately, her eyes piercing through me, "I know."

And that just makes it worse. I open my mouth – to say something, say anything – when her phone breaks into loud vibrations on the nightstand.

She doesn't move immediately, her phone blaring for a good few seconds, the sound slicing through the tension that has wrapped its suffocating hands around us. I curse under my breath.

Bloody timing.

Tori finally sighs, lifting her gaze off me and casting a sideways glance at the source of the noise. There's some finality in the way she looks at me before she attends to the call with a small frown on her face. "Good morning, Cam."

It's very unlike the samurai to call at this hour of the day and I immediately find myself on edge. The way Tori's face changes doesn't help either. Something's wrong, I know it. My mind begins to sift through possibility after possibility of what it could be when Tori looks at me with alarm in her eyes and rasps into the phone, "He's here. He's fine."

What even—

"We'll be there as soon as we can, Cam."

My eyes are glued on her and I'm vaguely cognizant of the quickening of my breath and the discomfort of sweat sticking to the skin of my palm. Tori disconnects the call and I choke, "What's happened?"

She gulps, brows furrowing and I'm beginning to lose my patience. "Tori, what?"

"There's some— Cam says there's something on the security cameras at the Academy," she finally says. There's a hint of fear in her voice and I register she has slowly gravitated towards me. "Someone tried to break into your office."

A/N: I struggled a lot with this chapter and capturing Hunter's voice. I still don't know if I did it right and I'm terrified that I messed it up somewhere. The themes of this story are very difficult for me to write about and I hope I did them justice. At one point, I wanted to give up on this story because of its elements but the Pua Magasiva (the actor who played Shane) incident convinced me otherwise. If you don't know about it and would like to, I suggest reading his wife's interview. Thank you for reading and I would really appreciate feedback about the content of this chapter and my handling it.