Chapter Two

Negotiations

Steam rose from a seemingly forgotten china teacup resting on the long windowsill that looked down across the pure snow that stretched as far as the eye could see. Even as the small fox girl stared out, kneeled by the arched frame of the massive window, more of the serene flakes drifted down to build the snowdrifts up further. Behind Stella stood her uncle, red fur meticulously groomed and hand trained over his paler muzzle. Erik Fairfield had been there for going on an hour and he still didn't know what to say to his niece.

He craned his neck to look under her arms; folded under her smaller hands was a manila folder stuffed with papers. The mere sight made him wish he had just kept his mouth shut. She wouldn't have those papers and so much fresh bad news if it wasn't for him opening his fat mouth. But the girl had ASKED about Dr. Piniford, and he couldn't just LIE about what had happened.

Erik Fairfield simply hadn't known how important it was.

"Darling." He finally began, crouching down beside her. His niece refused to make eye contact. "I know that all this…all this LOSS has been rough. But I promise it's going to get better soon. You know that, right?"

"…I don't know anything anymore." Stella sniffed; her uncle stiffened at the tears collecting in the child's eyes. With a deep breath he wrapped an arm around her shoulder and drew her into his chest; she buried her nose in his waistcoat with one hand loosely hanging onto his prim jacket. "And I don't know what…WHY he wanted me to have all this stuff, either! Mom and dad's notes…I don't get any of this stuff! It's all history stuff and references I don't get! What's a 'Lind'? I don't know! Ugh!"

With a dramatic push, Stella picked up the manila folder on the windowsill and threw it down on the ground. The papers within scattered across the floor. Erik reached down to pick one sheet up as he pulled the now sobbing child into his chest. He had to admit he didn't know why Dr. Piniford's will had been prepared to hand a pile of notes over to Stella Frost, nor why he had not been allowed to look at them before he transferred them to the girl. Once the files had been opened, though, he immediately recognized why—he immediately recognized the elegant scrawl of Genevieve Frost and the hasty penmanship of Paul Frost.

He knew why, yes. But he couldn't figure anything else out anymore more than his niece could. The letters and documents all were littered with complicated jargon and references to things that neither of them had never heard of before. Stella was right about one thing, for certain: the mysterious word 'Lind' came out constantly in nearly every paper.

But he was no historian, nor was he any scientist.

Erik Fairfield had no answers.

"I thought if I came back I'd be closer ta' solvin' what happened!" Stella's voice was barely intelligible against his uncle's jacket. He hushed her to no avail as her sobs turned into frantic hiccups. "I thought…if I was here, I would be close 'nough to the questions to find some answers! B-but ever since I got back, the question are just gettin' worse and worse and worse! 'N there's NO ONE here who knows any of th' answers! Everyone who does keeps…keeps…they keep…"

She swallowed a watery sob.

"…Are people gettin' hurt 'cause of what I'm doin', Uncle Erik?"

He stared, stunned, down at the little girl holding his waist. He eyes spoke of an earnest belief in her supposed guilt, so much so that the man just sat there flooding with shock for a couple of minutes. Then he rested a gentle hand atop Stella's messy mop of uncombed black hair, threading his fingers down the back of the ponytail to comfort the small girl. Her lip quivered.

"Dr. Piniford did not die because of you, Stella. He died because of…" Erik himself faltered for a moment then shook his head. He couldn't be so weak in front of a child so lost. Even if it meant pouring salt on his own old wounds. "…he died because of your aunt, Stella. Vanessa sent people after you who had no morals to speak of and they only did what such nasty folks are prone to doing. Whether she told them to kill the doctor or not…it doesn't matter. She knew who she was hiring when she placed Svetlana Vasin and Jeb the Tusk under her employ. And you simply cannot blame the results of her brutal choices on yourself."

Behind her head, he held up one of the papers that had fallen from the manila folder. He recognized his sister-in-law's handwriting even if he didn't understand anything the paper was talking about.

Erik's mind flitted back to the events of the past year. Stella going missing out of nowhere, his wife being exposed for the fraud she was, the actions of the cult that dogged the Frost family history, the kidnapping of a young pop star, the time that his niece had spent with the pack of borderline criminals that somehow managed to take better care of Stella than he ever could. So much had happened—the man had to stop and wonder if what was written on the papers around them even had relevance anymore. Even if they did, what could he do? He was only one man and if he were to be honest with himself, he was a woefully useless one.

Erik Fairfield had only stepped into all of this by lieu of marrying into the Frost family. He was born in a well off enough family and went to a decent enough school, managing to come out of all of it with virtually no viable skillsets. All he could boast was a rather high tolerance to alcohol that had led to occasional drinking problems, and as his ex-wife had put it, a 'very pretty face'. The man had not been born to give direction or lead anyone and he had been completely comfortable with that.

Still…there had to be an answer. He had THINK. There had to be something in that had happened in the past year that could help them, since they clearly were getting nowhere on their own. The red fox's vision blurred a bit, the paper in his out going out of focus as he zeroed in on a glossy print that had been lying conspicuously underneath the manila folder. The photographed smile waved obliviously back to him, pink ink dried atop the bottom of the print.

The popstar, Mina Mongoose. Behind her was the a spiny blue head turned away from the camera to talk to what Erik recognized as the Acorn family princess. Behind them was a smaller mutant fox, looking almost curiously behind them at the older girl and the unseen photographer. That poor girl that had been tied to Stella and the Hooligans only a few months ago. That poor girl who seemed to have an intimate friendship with the Freedom Fighters, the royal family, and the hedgehog that was so often called the hero of the world.

One hand scooped underneath Stella's rear, pulling her up into her uncle's neck as he stood to walk over to the windowsill and sit beside the glossy print. With gloved hands he carefully lifted it. From the crook of his neck, his niece shifted a bit to look at the image that she was being presented with. Her legs shifted across to sit in her uncle's lap, taking the publicity picture out of his hands to look at it nervously.

"There's nothing wrong with asking for help from the those who would give their hand for a good cause, Stella." Erik said, petting a hand down her hair. "Even if those you care for don't happen to like such individuals too much."

Stella was silent for a moment.

Then she nodded.

A burst of smoke emerged from Nack's mouth, hand resting firmly on his forehead with a cigarette planted firmly between his fingers. It let off a small trail that disappeared into the air. Frankly he would've preferred something a little stronger than the cheapass cancer sticks he had picked up a few weeks back at a shop and rob, but it filled in the gap. At least until he could swap it out for a nice, expensive, high quality, stolen cigar. Or some hard liquor.

Nothing frustrated him more than anger that he felt bad for feeling.

The kid's story made sense. She had needed help. She had needed smarts. So she had gone through the pain in the ass popstar to get in contact with everyone's favorite showoff hedgehog, and more importantly, to his intellectual partner. Nack would never admit it to either of their faces but as much as his enemies pissed him off, he knew damn well that the pint-sized mutant that Sonic towed around wasn't with him without reason. The hero brat was smart. His arsenal of handmade gizmos was more than enough to account for that. And with their ties to the royal family, Sonic and Tails could easily dig into whatever long dead secrets that were hidden from the sight of the layman.

That was the type of knowledge that a run of the mill mercenary couldn't possibly hope to attain, no matter how high the pricetag was.

He tapped a few ashes off the glowing tip of his cigarette. It still pissed him off a personal level to be sitting across from Sonic the Hedgehog. In retrospect he wasn't even sure why he needed to be here. Tallying the room it seemed like Stella had what she needed to do whatever she was planning. It took all of his self control to not bite his cigarette in half at the thought that Sonic was actually upstaging him here.

The weasel wanted desperately to point this out, to point out EVERYTHING wrong with the fact that he and his men were sitting in a room with their hated enemy. Luckily, the only creature in the universe to have less self control than Nack the Weasel was sitting on the arm of the polar bear who hovered above the Hooligan's leader.

" So if ya called Poppy Moppy, and she got ya in contact with blue boy and the mutant wonder, why'd you ask us to come here?" Bean's tone was childishly delighted, as if he was completely blind to the situation at hand. Knowing the birdbrain, Nack realized, he probably was. "Ain't you just gonna take super duper sonic racing to do your assignment?"

"Super duper sonic racing…?" Stella looked confused, but Sonic let out a loud snort. The hedgehog sat on the couch furthest away from the Hooligan's, arms thrown behind the dark wooden frame. Tails sat aside him, hands fiddling with each other in his lap and nervous written plain as day across his face. Nack doubted either of them were entirely comfortable with the situation either—both sides had fled to separate corners as soon as they were give a chance, Stella sitting on the longer couch between Nack's chair and the heroes' loveseat. Her uncle stood quietly behind her.

"I know its gonna break your hearts but I actually can't stay. I'm only here to check in on Tails." The silent 'and to make sure meeting up with you criminals doesn't go south ASAP' floated over the conversation like a dull, unspoken roar. "I have some stuff I gotta catch up with regarding the whole thing with, y'know, cracking some eggs. Making some omelettes. Hero stuff, y'know."

"You think you're funny but you're not." Nack replied flatly.

"Nah, I'm hilarious."

"No."

"Be that as it may…" Tails cleared his throat, one hand gripping Sonic's arm warningly. The hedgehog scoffed but sat back and looked away from the conversation. "I'll be staying here. I have a lot of stuff here that only I'm going to be able to operate."

The boy shot a glance at his best friend; Sonic gave him an expectant look. Tails' cheeks immediately puffed up and his head whipped back to look defiantly at the mercenaries sitting across from him. "A-and…and if you don't like it, t-that's just tough luck, buddy!"

It took all of Nack's willpower to not join in with Sonic's cackling. And even then, he couldn't resist the wry grin that split his face. Absently, in the back of his mind, he wondered if he had always been this easy on kids or if he had the little rich princess to blame for this newfound chink in his armor. Really it wasn't worth dwelling on—if Sonic was leaving, then that left him with an important place. And as much as the brat had grown on him, Nack figured she knew damn well how the weasel and his boys worked.

"Regarding your commission fee for the job…"

Music to his ears.

"I know I've promised y'guys a lot of fake stuff in order to trick you before. So this time, I'm gonna offer you somethin' really real." Stella began, fixing her gaze with the Hooligan leader's. Nack stared back defiantly; he had to admit he cared about this kid by this point, but Stella had the traits of a scam artist. She wasn't cut out of exactly the same cloth as the Hooligans but would definitely dip into their way of dealing with things if the situation called for it.

Thankfully, as a check was passed over to him by Erik Fairfield, the sharpshooter realized he had nothing to worry about. A grin spread across his face as he snapped the paper sharply, casting an eye over at the young girl. Unsurprisingly, the fox girl had fixed him with a smug and knowing grin. Like he cared—it wasn't some big secret that he or any of the Hooligans liked their money, and they liked it in large sums. Only Bean looked slightly disappointed at the lack of a precious, shiny gemstone.

"Alright, kiddo. You have my attention. What's this new job?"