Disclaimer: Anything familiar to you, I don't own. This is a work of fanfiction for personal amusement, fulfillment and a bit of self-therapy. I make nothing from any of it.

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Orpheus and Eurydice

September 12th, 2011 11:20 PM

Rachel's calves didn't hurt as much as her heels. She wasn't sure what to make of that other than to assume that maybe during clandestine activities, she needed to find better or at least more comfortable footwear. It was starting to cool down outside, something which Rachel could comprehend even though she was still, herself, fairly warm. Only part of that was down to the outfit which obscured her features and covered her from head to toe in black. The rest of the unnatural warmth came from deep within. At first, as Rachel took up position crouching behind this wreaking trash bin, she had considered focusing on staying calm. Calm wasn't what she was going to need, she was going to need her anger. It did not come to her like an old friend, she did not treasure the anger, she just recognized that she was going to need it for the night to come.

For about the fifth time, Rachel forced herself to stay low behind the trashcan and run her eyes across the Blackwell Academy parking lot. Her own vehicle sat in one corner, parked conspicuously far from her usual spot-mostly because that spot was rather close to where she now hid-and about five or six other cars belonging to students who lived in the dorms but had their own rides popped up here and there. Three of the remaining cars were security, including David Madsen's Overcompensator. That just left one car that Rachel could count that stood out at all. If she was a betting girl, she would place that as being Mrs. Hoida's. The english teacher had taken to working late into the night, ever since a year before when she had tragically miscarried.

Rachel used to find it incredibly sad but had come to understand that people really did process grief in wildly different ways. Rachel read and listened to music. Her mother took long walks and, unfortunately, drank ever more expensive brands of wine. There was no right or wrong way to handle grief, unless it involved doing one's self harm. Avoidance is useful in small doses, Rachel thought, quoting her therapist. But avoidance isn't everything. Rachel shifted slightly as she hunkered back against the stone wall behind her, almost trying to wedge herself between the can and the wall.

Her thick hair strained against the bun beneath her mask as Rachel cricked her neck to try to relieve some of the tension she felt from the shoulders up. This bun was not quite so ornate as Kate's, more designed to lay as flat as possible. The heavy clothing on her frame was fairly loose, enough to obscure the majority of her frame, she was pleased to note. This last detail had been enough to inspire Rachel's coming performance. It was going to be the most important act of her life and damn if it wasn't a one-man show with a small audience.

The seconds seemed to give way to minutes, but Rachel knew that she had to stay calm. Her phone was safely back in the dorm along with anything which might give away who she was or where she was hiding. She did have an old analog watch that even the dim light of the parking lot might be enough to let her see, but that would require lifting one arm of the sweater and taking her focus off of the world around her. Rachel inhaled, unfortunately treated to the stench of the can beside her far more completely than say the scent of cut grass behind her. He always comes by this time of night, Rachel reminded herself. For the last few days, though she had said nothing to Max or Chloe about it, Rachel had been doing David a favor and trying to show him what it was going to feel like to realize he had been followed, his every move watched and analyzed.

Just before 11:30 each night, David made his second sweep of the parking lot, and the only other active members of his security team snuck off campus to smoke pot. Poor stick up the ass mother fucker, Rachel thought at the man, he'd lose his mind if he knew. No, the watch was going to have to go unused. She was not about to surrender the one upper hand she had on David Madsen, his complete and utter lack of awareness that she was waiting. Rachel exhaled and, instead of worrying, about the time kept her eyes locked on the ground for the sight of his long, extended shadow as he descended the stairs and her ears out for approaching footsteps above and behind her.

Run yourself through this one more time, she counseled. He can't see anything but your eyes and it'll be too dark. Take even that away from him. Her right hand clenched around a particularly bright LED flashlight. With that in his eyes he won't know what's going on. Now, your voice. Deepen it, slow it down. Make yourself sound like one of the boys. Mimic Eliot maybe, he likes to talk slow and deep like he's hot shit. Say everyone's full name, as slowly as possible. Make him uncomfortable, confused. Throw him off his game. She was cut off from her plotting by what might have been the sound of feet on cement, just on the edge of her hearing. Or maybe the wind's playing tricks, either way, get down as low as you can. Show David that he's not the hottest shit to walk Arcadia Bay, you are. The only thing that might back him off you, the girls, Steph and Frank is to show him there are things going on here that he can't comprehend.

As she listened, trying to pick up the sound again, Rachel brought herself so low her hands were pressed against the ground. David, mocking Chloe. The fear you see in her eyes around him. Her face when she saw the camera. Max's confliction, the way she bites her tongue every time he looks at them. The files. He thinks we're the bad guys and he lumped Steph into it, too, that sack of shit. She began to breathe slightly faster, which was a step further than she wanted to go, but that was alright. She needed the fire, tonight. I need the fire. The footfalls became clear: heavy and booted they smacked of a large man who walked as if he had never heard of stepping lightly in his life.

The shadow came next and despite being stretched out by the low lamp post behind him, it looked right for David Madsen. We're all creatures of habit, she reminded herself, crouching low enough that her thighs were finally beginning to ache. Slowly, against the ground, the flashlight spun in her right hand so that the button would be in reach of her thumb. Beneath her left hand some pebble dug into it, through the thick dark gloves. Her nose threatened to rebel against the stench of garbage. The shadow grew large and longer as David descended the stairs into the lot. He's taking his sweet ass time. The man came into view finally but didn't even look toward her. He did, however, slow.

Emitting from the long, thin flashlight in his hand, bright light passed over all of the cars in the lot, one by one. He did it slowly, in one scanning motion, but it was not enough. No, don't let be this the day you learn to half-ass something, Rachel thought, desperately, chest beginning to heave slightly. Come on, you spycamming sack of shit, go check the cars out! The fact was that David was a problem she had to act on now, before it was too late. The photography teacher's departure from the school at the end of the year wasn't the only one announced: the head of the security department was leaving, too. If David took over that position there was no chance in hell they were going to have an ounce of peace on campus, much less elsewhere. Power in the minds of the power hungry, Rachel thought, I'll show you power, just start wal- there!

Yes, mother fucker. David took a step or two forward and that was all that needed to happen. At this distance he was about ten feet ahead of her when she rose to her full height, as unimpressive as it might be and brought her right hand up. How many times had David Madsen heard her voice? How many meals had they shared together when Chloe could stand to be around him? How often had she slept under the same roof as the man? If there was ever a time for Rachel to find out if she was a good actress, it was here and now. Voice low, draw it out, full names, act like some cocky sack of shit.

"David Norman Madsen." In one way it sounded good to her ears, but in another she swore she could hear herself properly over her attempt at obfuscation. Whatever the case, as low as she forced her voice it was loud enough to draw the man's attention. He spun on his heel, fairly dexterously if she did say so herself. She could hear his foot drag against the ground as he turned and then, when she was trying to get one last look at his face, the man brought his flashlight up and blinded her. God fucking damn it, Rachel's left hand came up at once to block the light and, squinting, she raised her right alongside it and returned David the favor with what she thought was a much more annoying flashlight. David cursed aloud.

"Identify yourself immediately and put down that light," David had skipped the deescalation portion of his training as a security guard, Rachel knew that much for sure from the way the man's voice went immediately to yelling, to anger. Then again, if he wasn't as stupid as he looked he was probably a little bit scared. As it so happened, Rachel felt very little fear of her own. His voice just made her more and more angry. The warmth beneath her clothing was beginning to cancel out even the cool breeze of the fall night. She did not drop the light or give him the satisfaction of knowing who she was. For a moment her silence is met with only frustrated sputtering. Get down to business or he's going to call for backup or just try to tackle you. He doesn't care about getting physical. She could feel the bandanna against her mouth partially muffling her voice, and projected a bit harder to counter that. This only the made the strain on her throat and vocal cords worse.

"I know you're double dipping," she started, trying her best to make her voice sound more like a teenage boy's. "I know you've got a conflict of interest here, when it comes to protecting the school, which should be your job. What happened to Hayden Jones only proves it. Hayden Jones was attacked by another student completely out of the blue and was suspended for defending himself. The attacker, the instigator, received half the punishment of the victim. That means you're not alone in this." She was surprised, even as her left hand began to shake, that she was able to keep it together. Her voice came out steady, low and slowly, each word stretched to just short of the point of absurdity. David's grumbling and attempts to break into the conversation were gratifying to hear. He wasn't going to wait much longer.

"You listen here," he started at a yell. Rachel spoke over him.

"You're supposed to be the good guy, though. You're supposed to be better. You're supposed to protect people like Hayden Jones."

"Identify yourself now or there will be severe consequences!" He's so angry all the time. If he had this power, the town would have burnt a long time ago. The forest fire would have been like nothing in comparison. Blackwell wouldn't even exist. Even as she began to grow more and more frustrated at not being listened to, she could hear him huffing and puffing at the very same.

"I know that you and Raymond Wells are in Sean Prescott's pockets." David only called again, this time in fewer, shorter grunting words, for her to identify herself. "I want you to do the right thing for once in your life and confess. Tell everyone the truth and stop working for the Prescotts." It's not working. He's not listening. You have to play his game. What was his game, she wondered, as he tried again to blind her with his flashlight. He was looking for an opportunity to tackle her, Rachel realized. His game is violence and fear. Everyone has to be scared of the big bad soldier man. His manhood depends on it. A grim understanding set in. He's too stupid to understand anything else. 'Fight fire with-' and all that.

David faked as if to charge forward and Rachel stiffened up. She could feel the heat, no longer comfortable, protective warmth but slowly building agony. It was pooling somewhere in her chest, as if encircling the very heart of her. He was threatening her in how he stood and moved, trying to intimidate her. If that didn't work, it was going to step up to verbal threats. After that, her physical safety was in question. This was the man that David Madsen was. This is why you're out here doing this at all, don't forget it. Don't forget what he did to Chloe. Don't forget everything he did to Chloe. When he spoke, she found her breath hissing from beneath her front teeth.

"Last chance, punk, identify yourself or I will take you to the ground." No, no you won't.

"Nathan Prescott is a rabid dog. If you keep trying to protect him from the consequences of his actions, there will be consequences for you."

"You're going to threaten me? You just crossed the line," David told her, before taking a step forward. Honey, you wouldn't know the line if someone held you down and beat you with it. Rachel could see his muscles tensing beneath his clothes, he was going to run, to lunge. The moment of confrontation had come. Let's go. Rachel knew that both the rage and fear she was feeling in that moment were just a quarter of what Chloe had had to go through since this man came into her life. Rachel didn't know how Chloe had stood it this long. Her left hand stretched out toward the can beside and behind her.

She called the rage and the fire and they came like faithful pets. Last time I let it get too out of control and everything went to shit. Not this time. The heat left her chest, traveling down her left arm and causing the rest of her to cool enough that she noticed it. For a moment it seemed to exist within the tip of her left middle finger and then there was a notable explosion to her left. David lunged but stopped halfway through the gesture so that he stumbled and nearly hit the floor. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw the lid of the trash can fly higher into the air than she could keep track. Its sides bowed out and a strong fire roared simultaneously to life. She might have been standing in the air after a dip into a lake for as cool as Rachel immediately felt.

"I need backup, I repeat, I need help. IED at the east lot, I repeat, IED at the east lot." David was reaching across himself to press the button on the walkie talkie strapped to his other shoulder. He's calling for help. Good, let him be afraid. It'll take those stoned fuckers two minutes to get here. I'm not done yet. Her shoulders heaved in the night, the flashlight rising and falling from where she aimed it in the process. Time to show him what this really is. He needed to understand that this was no bomb or anything of the sort. This was a force he could not begin to understand, could not begin to deal with. This was a force of nature. Please don't fail me now, she begged her cooling body. This was nowhere near as bad as the night she hurt Nathan.

I can do things that would make you piss yourself, old man. In this way Rachel finally exposed her abilities to someone other than Chloe or Max. Rachel dropped the flashlight and it fell to the ground with a loud clattering. Mercifully it still worked and she could see David with some clarity between the fire beside her and the flashlight to her right. Rachel raised her right hand, her heartbeat still wild in her chest, and focused hard on David's face. She didn't have to dig too deeply into her memories of all the times the man in front of her had disrespected her or those she loved. All she had to do was remember the camera feed and Chloe's face, the look of someone who felt wholly violated. David had done that. David had violated Chloe's privacy, had, in essence, violated her autonomy.

That look on Chloe's face was all it took. As before the fire came into being as warmth, heat in the core of her chest. As before it traveled where she willed it, up along either arm, through to her fingers. David froze mid statement as the flame emitted and began to form in the air in front of her. Okay, asshole, look at this. You know nothing. The fire formed into a ball no larger than her own head. There it hung and there it spun, lighting the area around herself and David from something like ten or twenty feet up. In fiction, when one found themselves with power, they were supposed to go mad from it or perhaps become addicted to it .All Rachel felt was ice cold and bone tired when the heat passed from her body. David, though, was backing away from her in something that resembled fear closely enough that Rachel was satisfied she had gotten her point across to him.

"You are playing with fire. The Prescotts are sick and you are acting like their puppet. From now on, stick to doing your job and let Nathan Prescott reap the consequences of his behavior." The fire dimmed and finally darkened as she lowered her hands and, without bothering to retrieve her flashlight, Rachel bolted. What she knew for certain as she glanced back behind her, was that David was not following her. Maybe I shook him up, she thought. Maybe it worked. Maybe he changes. Running along the roadside was a plan for a short time but as soon as she was out of view of the lot she was going to have to think of something else.

That time came fairly quickly. Glancing back over her shoulder turned up no pursuit and no angle at which she could see anything of the lot but the faint orange glow of a trash fire. A copse of trees on her right seemed as good an area as any to jump into to get off the road. One way or another, the police were going to be coming to the school in no time. Branches brushed past her, snagging at the skimask insistently. Without it, her long, thick hair would be caught by every other branch. Any kind of movement would have been difficult. Now, while frustrating, she could at least hide herself far enough into the trees that if David were to find his wits and chase after her he'd have difficulty finding her. Think Rachel. Think. They're going to do a headcount at the dormitory, she told herself, pulling to a stop with her back pressed against rough bark. If the cops get called on a bomb threat, this place is going to be a circus.

It's so cold.

There was not much in the way of strength in her limbs and that was a problem. If she wanted to get back to the dormitories before the police came she needed to be fast. She needed to be nimble. Her whole body shook with cold. Quick was unlikely, nimble impossible. Like last November, she told herself. The cold wasn't quite as bad at this point, but it was still enough that she shook the branch she reached out to grab to steady herself. Last November she had carried a barely conscious Max along the back perimeter of the campus during an emergency without being seen.

Only prayer is that I can make that trip again, but if I do, there's no guarantee that David won't be waiting outside of the dorms. Slowly, Rachel crept forward. No sound of police sirens came to her ears. It was almost too easy for heavy, unfamiliar black work boots to stomp a path back toward the school without her being seen. The outline of the cars in the lot were the first things to come into view, highlighted by reflections of a dancing, malodorous trash fire which she could smell even from where she was, creeping toward the school. Next, passing in front of the flame briefly, she caught the wide frame of David Madsen, mostly shadow. Probably on the phone with the cops. Him still being in the lot complicated things. Either she went around the lot and not only took more time but raised her risk of being seen by David's fellow security guards, or she cut across the lot and almost certainly would be seen by David.

Rachel was just beginning to formulate a plan when the night was pierced by a shrieking ring. It was not the sound of a siren approaching, oh no, it was the sound of a fire alarm. That makes no sense, she told herself, breath catching in her tight, heaving chest. No sense at all, there's no fire alarm near the fucking parking lot. It took her, in her cool, weakened state a moment to gather her wits about herself. When she did, Rachel realized that the ringing was coming from the main building on the campus, the school itself. David, who had been hesitating in front of the can and had not yet noticed her approach, screamed frustration into his walkie-talkie and then bolted from the lot, up the stairs.

Oh my god, I don't know who you are, but thank you. With her path clear it took Rachel little time to climb the small barrier separating the road from the parking lot and only slightly more to climb the scraggly, old stone wall between the lot and campus far enough for her to reach up and pull herself up by the railing. There was no one around to see her, though if she squinted she could still make out David's form in the soft light of street lamps lining the campus paths as he ran as fast as his legs could carry him toward the school. Rachel was not used to acts of god working out for her but if something really was wrong in the school, she was going to so reconsider this whole not believing in God thing. Or at least in Karma.

For the most part she was running through grass. There weren't paths built around this part of campus because why would anyone want to take the long way somewhere? That was for the best: where there was a path there would have been a series of lamps designed to keep students from falling and cracking their skulls at night. That was fine. Shaky as she was, her legs at least continued to do their job. The problem was, though, that as much as she was supposed to be on a stealth mission, she was wheezing, gasping as her chest continued to tighten. When her mouth wasn't open, greedily sucking in every bit of oxygen her lungs could hold, her teeth were chattering together. It was only with great effort that she rounded the corner and kept her eyes wide open as she rushed along the length of the back end of campus.

She was halfway to safety when she noticed the doors on the back of the school building burst open. For a moment she expected to see David rushing out, having spotted her from the corner of his eye. Instead, the short looping path leading back to the rest of the school showed someone small and lithe escaping the screaming fire alarm of the building. Unfortunately for Rachel, that person was running off the path and almost straight at her. Her options were to run and make good time or stay low and hope she had not already been seen, that this person's path was coincidence.

Rachel did not slow her pace but she did turn to try to watch through the spots forming in her vision as the person running from the building passed beneath the last street lamp between them and Rachel. Then and only then did Rachel suspect that the fire alarm was no coincidence. Bolting towards her in her signature grey hoodie and jeans, short brown hair disheveled and out of place, was Max Caulfield. How in the name of fuck? Rachel asked herself. The ski mask was still firmly in place but if Rachel squinted as she slowed she could see Max's eyes locked on her and the girl was not just approaching her as a stranger, she was smiling and laughing in the night. Rachel wasn't sure whether to run from Max or throw off her mask and kiss the girl. Maxie, you got some 'splainin to do.

She was freed from the decision and all other thoughts when one gloved hand was seized and jerked forward by the brunette. How does she know it's me? She has to know it's me. Rachel was forced to stumble forward, feeling horrible about the fact that she was slowing Max down, Max whose legs were probably a good two to three inches shorter than her. The thing was, now that she was not alone, the cold did not instill as much fear into her and though she still drew loud, ragged, gasping breaths, something deep down told Rachel that everything was going to be alright. She was with Max (who for some fucked up reason knows it's me) and that meant that she was safe.

If she could, Rachel would have made night into day in celebration. Instead she ran, eyes focused on the back of Max's head, always chasing the girl, always chasing. They moved through relative darkness but Max did not slow or hesitate, she stepped with purpose and took the longest strides she was capable of. It took all of Rachel's focus to not trip and fall or otherwise slow her girlfriend down but soon they rounded yet another corner and there, in the distance (and not too far, at that) were the Prescott Dormitories.

No one had been brought out of their rooms yet. In fact, judging by the darkened windows, people were completely unaware anything was going on. She thought it still quite a risk to make for the front door and was about to ask Max what to do in breathy, teeth chattering, broken English when Max pulled her more insistently. To a mix of relief and confusion, Max did not turn toward the front of the building: she led her around to the back. Max slowed and released her hand, pressing her left pointer to her lips and then turning back toward the building.

Lined up in front of her in two rows were a series of windows, each blackened and dull as the students behind them either pretended to sleep or actually did. Max was focused on the row on the first floor, the boy's dormitory. When the girl raised a hand and began to point to one after another, Rachel realized she was counting. There, about six windows down was one which was cracked just barely open. Max gestured once and then hurried over to it. Rachel's legs protested any further movement and they did so loudly enough that she considered just hiding back there and hoping for the best.

In the end, she followed the photographer to a window, her mind bursting with questions that usually boiled down to 'how' and 'why.' Max pursed her lips and let loose a low, but rather loud whistle which made Rachel's stomach churn. Even on the first floor the windows were too high for Rachel to climb into in her current state. She wasn't sure what was happening, but a moment later the partially open window rose and a dark hand stuck itself out. Rachel shot a look toward Max, who only gestured her forward hurriedly, blue eyes barely readable in the night. What Rachel could see, though, spoke of a mischievousness that Rachel thought went deeper than just pulling a fire alarm. That had to be her, Rachel told herself. Too many coincidences.

Rachel recognized the way the hand grasping hers held on, from various scenes in theater class, not to mention at least one during an actual play. The wide-shouldered boy pulling her from the ground and into his dorm room was Hayden Jones. She only caught his face after their joint efforts pulled her high enough that her shaking right arm could find purchase on his windowsill. Together, they got her inside and she rolled uselessly to Hayden's floor before crawling out of the way of the window so he could help Max. She heard the boy's confusion as he hastily questioned Max about who he had just brought into his room. Apparently, Hayden was expecting a party of one, tonight.

"Rachel," Max hissed at him as she crossed the threshold. "Rachel." This was all the explanation Hayden seemed to need as he gave one more great heave and he and Max collapsed messily to the floor beside Rachel. As the three of them disentangled themselves, Rachel felt her breath starting to stabilize, even after having been struck in the chest by Hayden's elbow. What the hell are these two up to? Rachel asked herself. Once Max was on her feet she hurried to the window and slammed it shut, lowering pale blinds over it. By that point, Rachel had gotten to her knees but found any attempts to stand on her own aborted by shaky legs.

The light of a small television in one corner of the room came to life, bathing the room in a pale, warm glow. Max turned to Rachel and held one hand out, the same hand that had only two minutes before come out of nowhere to help Rachel haul ass away from the the scenes of their individual criminal activities. I love this girl, she told herself as Max hefted her to her feet. As soon as Max was sure Rachel would be able to stay standing on her own, the girl took a step or two back, doubled over, placed her hands on her knees and laughed, loudly.

"Holy shit," Max exclaimed. "Holy shit! That was-that was amazing."

"But did it work?" Hayden asked.

"It not only worked, there was a bonus," Max explained. "Well, two if you count me realizing that someone else was up to some undercover bullshit too." That seemed like as good a signal as any for Rachel to pull her mask off. The bandanna came with it, but not without pulling a hair or two loose from Rachel's rapidly unraveling bun. Her chest still felt tight, she still shivered and her breath was still ragged but all told she was beginning to feel a lot more in control of herself. Now if I can warm up, I might not lose my fucking mind before Max tells me what the fuck is going on. "It got a little complicated, that's why I'm late. But we're good."

"And the fire alarm?" he asked her, voice low and conspiratory before he realized he was talking in front of Rachel and relaxed.

"Improvisation," Max said. "No one saw me, don't worry. Mission accomplished." Hayden shared a high five with the girl as she straightened up and then turned to Rachel, quizzically. Finding that she wanted her hands free, Rachel immediately stuffed the mask and bandana into her large, black sweater top, before pulling her gloves off. Oh shit, she thought, realizing they were lightly singed. Of course they are. She wanted to laugh, but got the feeling it would hurt to do so. It was a heady, adrenaline laugh. Her vision cleared before her very eyes as Max gestured for Rachel to breathe. "I just had to cause a little diversion for Rachel to get back safe. We met halfway to the dorms, because I knew damn well what path I'd take if I was her." You know me too well.

"I'm not sure what you were up to tonight," Hayden said, "But I hope it went well." Then, turning grimly back to Max, his upper lip curling slightly, Hayden added, "You actually got it?"

"I got the file, and I got the file that that file was trying to hide," Max promised him. "Nathan Prescott's actual Blackwell Academy file." You sneaky, gorgeous little minx! The next time they had a date night on their plates, Rachel decided she was taking Max somewhere nice. That meant leaving Arcadia Bay, but so be it.

"Good," Hayden hissed. In that light, the look of disgust in his eyes was enough to make Rachel shiver. The boy who had gone to bat for Nathan Prescott time and time again, telling everyone that he wasn't so bad when he just 'lightened up and let loose' was no longer feeling so beneficent toward the Prescott heir. Rachel couldn't blame him but she was a little jealous of him: she wanted to break one of Nathan's fingers too.

"Don't believe anything you hear about what else happened tonight," Rachel counseled the boy. "It's going to be twisted so far around that I look hella like some sort of monster." Hayden tilted his head at her, eyes narrowing not in suspicion but in some concern. Why are people like Hayden rare? Generally jovial, trusting everyone to a fault? I get that it gets them in the shit sometimes, but the world would be a better place. Either way, his getting burnt by Nathan had clearly not crushed that spirit, as he might have worked with Max for revenge but had had no reason to pull some stranger dressed like a fucking cat burglar into his room.

"At this point," he told her, bitterly, "I'm willing to believe the school will spin anything to make decent people look like shit and shitty people look angelic." Rachel only nodded as Max began to gesture toward his door. "No," he said, quickly. "Not like that." Max and Rachel both stopped in the middle of turning to leave. "Give me the gloves, the mask. I'll hide it in my shit until wash day. That way if you go walking out of the room you don't look like you're about to get caught by some 1950s copper with a billy club." Max snorted suddenly, making Rachel turn as the girl slammed her hands over her own mouth and nose, shoulders shaking. Setting aside Max's laughter, Hayden had both a good idea and a good point, but she was going to do him one better.

"No staring," she told Hayden, then glanced back at Max. "That doesn't go for you, though." Max lowered her hands, looking momentarily confused as Rachel pulled her sweatshirt off, wrapping the mask, bandana and burnt gloves inside of it. The brunette graced her with a mostly humorous appreciative whistle, but Rachel was well aware that no matter how cold she was, beneath the sweater her shirt was sticking to her by the power of enough sweat to fill a damn pool. To Hayden's credit he glanced away the moment he realized what she was going to do and only took the shirt and other gear with a nod. Wonder if they smell like 'running from someone' sweat or like burning.

Either way, she was suddenly grateful that she and Max had picked the same night for their clandestine activities, as Hayden was proving a willing and capable accessory. This might have gone to absolute shit at the end without Max and, Hayden's right. Anyone could come out of their room with all that noise going on at the school and catch us going upstairs. She shivered more strongly than a moment before against the faint airflow meeting sweat-soaked skin. Whether the police were going to pull them all outside or not, Rachel felt like she had to get changed and soon or she had no chance in hell of warming up. Again, Rachel gestured toward the door.

"Thank you," Max told Hayden before moving to the door.

"Goes double for me," Rachel added in just above a whisper.

"If you ever actually get to use anything you found tonight, drinks are on me for both of you and Chloe," Hayden said by way of response, opening the door for them both. "Now get the fuck out of here before someone hears us," he advised, as if that was not their plan already. The last thing Rachel saw of the boy was a wide and slightly peaceful smile. Hayden got to exorcise his demons tonight. While her limbs felt a tiny bit stronger her legs were still protesting the ten minutes of crouching and all the running after when they reached the end of the boy's dormitory hallway in silence.

Their only communication in the girl's hall was a pair of mutually adoring smiles before they split off. In her room, Rachel discarded the remainder of her sweat soaked clothing, did her best to wipe the sweat from her forehead and changed into something like what she would normally wear to bed: a plain brown tee that she thought actually belonged to Max and a pair of shorts. Still, there came no knocking, no voice rousing people from their beds. She could, however, finally hear sirens. That whole thing took like ten minutes, Rachel thought with some awe as she retrieved her phone.

Me

How the hell did you know what I was doing?

Max

Fire doesn't float normally. I was done and heading back to the room and heard a fucking explosion. Then there's something hovering in the air like a wizard's Fireball. You tell me. How did I know you were up to something?

Me

Don't get smart mouthed with me, young lady

Max

What were you doing ?

Me

Promise to keep it on the downlow?

Max

Yeah

Me

It's a secret.

Max

No fair. :( :( :(

Me

You're fucking incredible do you know that?

Max

I'm offended it took you this long to figure that out.

Me

Love you.

Max

You more.