AN: I have so many plot bunnies in so many different fandoms that it's nice to have something easy to pound out now and then. And for those of you who think these stories have a point, stop wasting your energy. They really don't.
With that said, enjoy.
Rock and a Hard Place
"No, sissy. You bounce the ball and pick up as many as you can before it comes down…here…"
A crash of pots and pans, the shattering of glass, and loud voices getting impossibly louder from within an apartment above echoes over our heads, throughout the alleys, and I know there will be no dinner tonight. It was nothing new. One pint of alcohol was worth enough to feed us both, but the liquor was worth their time, I suppose. I pretend not to notice as I snatch up a few jacks and then hand the ball to my little sister, whose full attention has thankfully remained on the beginnings of the game spread out haphazardly on the cracked and dirty sidewalk. I feel the tug of a smile as I push back wayward strands from her face, the rest of her silky pale hair gathered loosely at her nape. She wears her favorite outfit, a faded pink pillow case with a white polka-dot pattern, thin slips of matching fabric stitched with cheap thread resting on thin, fragile shoulders, already smudged with dirt in spite of last night's bath.
It was this year's birthday gift from me.
I wince, hearing a fist connect with flesh, followed by a scream of pain and outrange, the tumbling of limbs as words leave the argument entirely. Time to go.
"C'mon, sissy. Let's go for a walk." I pull her to her feet before she has time to form a protest, clutching her hand in mine as I gather the rest of the jacks into my fist and shove them in my pockets as I begin to move out of the alley and onto the street. I pay no attention to the muffled whimpers as I practically drag her along, fear my motivator, forcing my heart into my throat.
My pace is enough to send her scurrying to catch up with me, nearly tripping on her own tiny, bare feet as she whines and begs for me to slow down. I'm tempted to have her climb on my back as we reach the corner, the daylight blinding me for a moment.
It's then that I somehow make out the rushing footfalls of someone in an all out run, in front, out of sight, and again, behind us, and in a frantic moment I am suddenly overwhelmed by a sensation of entrapment, tipped so easily by the state of panic I'm already in. To my left, I make out a dumpster, the lid propped open with a rotting table leg, and without thinking, I grab my sister, shocking her briefly into silence as I throw her in. Not bothering to see to whom the footfalls belong, only knowing that they'd soon be right there, I hoist myself up and over the edge, landing with a soggy oomph, scurrying to press a dirty, trembling hand over the scream about to erupt from sissy's throat. She squirms, but only for a second, her eyes following mine to the gaping maw of the dumpster, and for a moment, I am heartbroken with the knowledge that a life of constant fear has made her much too wise for someone just four years old.
Together, we crouch in the refuse, and wait, but not for long.
Sneakers scrape on concrete, smacking in puddles, their noises echoing from within the dumpster. More footsteps, these sounding harder, and lighter, and now…a voice.
"Stop! I said stop, you idiot!"
A collision of flesh, the rustle of clothing, the ear-busting ricochet of a gun being fired just on the other side of the rusty, slimy metal that surrounded us…one, two times…then two more. There is nothing but heavy breathing now, and an occasional feminine growl, and this, in spite of the danger I'd be facing, incites me to chance a look, my sister burying her face into the torn corduroy of my pants as I hook my fingers round the edge of the opening and pull myself up.
I've only begun to see the top of two heads when one is shoved forcefully into the side of the dumpster, causing the lid to drop suddenly. I am amazed when, sitting anew amidst the decaying innards, I realize I still have all my fingers. There is another bone-breaking slam, then another, this one accompanied by a short gasp, then the sound of something sliding against the outside before collapsing to the ground. There is a pause, and again, my curiosity nearly overcomes my common sense.
"Faye!"
This voice is distant, but approaching quickly, not from the alley, but from the street, I think—it's difficult to tell with the lid closed and my sister pressing her face into my chest so she could breathe without gagging. I cradle her then, shushing her as I look around in the darkness, hoping the drama outside would play itself out soon so we could get out and away…and that's when I notice a tiny hole in the metal, just off to my right. I tell myself it's for want of a taste of fresh air that I creep over to it, but I know otherwise. The fact that the hole is from a recently fired bullet does not deter me.
"Faye!" The voice is much closer this time, the footfalls coming to a scraping halt just as another pair pick up and begin moving quickly away. I make it to the peephole in time to see a man in a leather jacket whip past. I can hear a woman moaning, and I ignore my sister's trembling and gasping as I lean in for a wider view. Unfortunately, the woman has fallen out of sight, somewhere off to my left, but she's close enough that I can hear her rapid breathing.
Another man zooms past suddenly, blocking the view completely for the span of less than a second, heading in the direction that the Leather Jacket person had gone. My whole body pans to the right, my neck straining, cheek pressed against mold and mildew and cold metal in my effort to catch a glimpse. Sissy cries my name, and I shush her more forcefully this time, instantly regretting my actions with the look on her innocent face. I frown, pulling her up against me and holding her tightly as I go back to watching.
I see nothing for several moments, and then the sound of footsteps heralds someone's return. They pause, then the pace is harried, carrying their owner closer to the dumpster and likely to the woman slumped against it. And then I see him, for a brief moment, my eyes bugging out of my head at the sight of a tangled mop of green hair. He pauses right in front of the dumpster, and I have a perfect view: wrinkled blue suit, a gun in his right hand that he quickly holsters beneath his coat. He's staring down at something just in front of the dumpster, and the look on his face…well, I'd say he looks pretty damn scared.
And that, for some reason, scares me. But I don't turn away. I can't.
"Christ, Faye," he mumbles, the anger in his voice not matching the emotions on his face. There's a muffled groan in response, and his brow furrows more, but he looks no less worried. He kneels, and his face is only a foot away from mine, and instinctively I back away, in spite of the steel wall that separates us from the rest of the world. I gather my wits after a moment, still clutching my sister to me, as she now seems to be entranced in what is going on outside as well, and move back to my post, albeit this time keeping a safe distance so as to not be seen from the other side.
He's taken off his jacket, perhaps using it to wrap around the woman, and is now crouching on his heels, his head tilting this way and that as he reaches for something in his belt. Bringing a hand to his mouth, he curses quietly again before saying, "Jet, you'll need to come pick us up."
There is static, and I'm entranced, having never seen a comm. link this close before.
A gruff, metallic voice bellows from the speaker. "Did you get 'im?"
He's never taken his eyes off the woman, lips forming a pensive frown as his eyes scan about, and I get the impression he's taking inventory. "No. But he got Faye. I don't think I can carry her all the way back to the ship."
"Aw, shit! What the hell happened now?!"
The man bows his head, his eyes closing wearily, shoulders heaving once in a snort before looking back at the space I imagine the woman lay, propped against the dumpster. He shakes his head, looking out at the mouth of the alley, squinting in thought before mumbling into the comm. link again. "Just come and get us. I'm sending my coordinates." He's distracted from the woman long enough to punch a few numbers in the keypad before returning it to his pants pocket. When he glances back up, his eyes meet mine through the peephole for an instant before I can duck down, and I barely clamp my hand over my own mouth fast enough to muffle the gasp.
From our hiding place, we can hear movements, a slide of fabric against the dumpster wall, and a muffled grunt accompanied by a gasp of pain from the woman. Several seconds pass during which I begin to think we're finally alone, when suddenly I hear the man's voice.
"You can come out anytime now. I'm not going to hurt you."
I know he's speaking to me, but I hope he isn't, and so I pull my sister against my chest and wait, my face tilted up to the closed hatch of the dumpster. Several more seconds tick away, and then a weary sigh is heard before the man deadpans, "I'm sure it smells lovely in there. Do what you want."
My sister and I exchange wary looks before I gather the courage to stand, pushing the lid open just enough that I can peek out into the alley. The man has gathered the woman in his arms, her head resting heavily on his shoulder, and is walking with determined strides towards the street. I push the lid open wider, standing at full height to watch as he turns to look down on her unconscious face, his expression pained, and I hear him murmur, "Someday, I hope you get tired of this," just before he disappears around the corner.
I blink several times, partly in relief and wonder at what had just happened, partly to rid of the tears in my eyes from the stench and the bright light. My sister has pulled herself up beside me and is struggling to climb out, and I move to help her when I notice something lying beneath a chipped brick on the ground just below me. I don't believe it at first, grasping my sister's arms and lowering her to the concrete before bracing to hop over and out, until my sister notices it, too.
"Look!" she squeals, her shorts legs skipping to the brick, tiny fingers lifting up the makeshift paper weight to clutch what lay there in her hands and lifting it up for display, like a prize, to my unbelieving eyes. But there it was, real as the sludge that stained our clothes, as the smell that permeated every ounce of my being: money. Real money. And a lot of it, by what I could tell. Enough to buy dinner for the rest of the month. I steal a glance over my shoulder at the opening of the alley, the man and his ward now long gone, feeling a smile creep onto my grimy face as my sister dances a barefoot ditty in the puddles around me.
And for one tiny moment, I'm not afraid of anything.