Keary’s mind flew back to the first and last time he had seen Mikka break down like this, four years ago. Her face had been swollen and bruised, her eyes wide with shock as if unable to register what had been done to her, bearing the expression of a trapped animal desperately searching for an escape. Blood trickled from where her lower lip had split to mix messily with the tears and mucus that ran down to her small, sharp chin. Sure, the girl was prone to emotional outbursts and had sometimes cried since then, but not with terror like this.
Biting back his scolding, he shook the girl once, firmly. "Mikka. Snap out of it."
The chestnut eyes snapped to him. "Are you going to hit me?" she asked lifelessly. "If so, just do it already, then leave me alone here to rot."
Hearing her friend inviting a beating like this, Kumiko started forward in dismay, Finneas close behind her.
“WAIT. Hold up one sec—”
Then they both froze, baffled. After a pause, Finneas whispered, “Am I hallucinating, or are you seeing this too, Kumiko?”
The raven-haired girl blinked several times before replying faintly, "I see it."
Keary had pulled Mikka into a hug. Finneas and Kumiko gaped at the sight.
Was this still the same Keary they were looking at, the one who cut his opponents down in unwavering cold blood? The one who scoffed derisively if any of the Daggers showed even the slightest sign of weakness? The one who had once quite literally strung Mikka up in a tree by her ankles over several upright daggers after she had disobeyed him at a critical point on a mission, left her dangling and screaming bloody murder there even when thunder clouds gathered overhead (overfeet?), and forbade anybody else from helping her down as he took a smoke, on pain of worse?
What on earth was even going on right now?? What kind of mind-blowing, celestial magic exactly had that sapphire-eyed Cardin boy been practising on him???
Oblivious to the devastating stupefaction he’d caused in the minds of the two spectators, Keary kept his focus on the blue-haired girl shivering before him, her tears soaking into his shirt.
He should have known. Just because she had regained her liveliness, always chittering cheerfully on and on about the strangest, most random things, didn’t mean all her scars had fully healed. He should have remembered; how many years had it taken him before he could stop waking up drenched in cold sweat from the memory of an iron grip clamped around his neck, phantom fingers eating grooves into his throat?
Of all people, he should have realised that the traces left by trauma weren’t so easily erased.
“You forget,” he told her quietly. “You’re no longer who you had to be when you were with him. You never have to be that way again. That’s why I taught you how to fight, remember? You can protect yourself now.” His arms tightened around her. “You're stronger than this, Mikka. Don't give in.”
Mikka clung to him. “But what if it’s really him?” she cried. “I changed my number and we moved houses, but what if he’s really back to find me and ruin me? What can I even do?”
"Then we’ll welcome him with a feast of his fingers and toes in a fondue of his own shit and blood,” Keary answered evenly. “But you’re gonna have to get out of bed for that.”
“I like fondue. I'm so hungry,” Mikka wept, burrowing closer. She had never interacted with Keary like this before, and it was kinda weird, but she also felt reassured now that she wouldn’t just be left to deal with it alone if shit really did hit the fan. If it really was Mack behind this, and if he really did try to get anywhere close to her, she knew Keary would finish the job if she couldn't.
Gradually, her blubbering subsided, and she calmed down enough to sniffle, “We should’ve found you a Cardin earlier. You’re so much cuddlier after he arrived.”
“What?!” Why was this woman always spouting rubbish?? He pushed her away from himself and rose. “Enough. Are you coming or not?”
Mikka blinked up at him with confused eyes, lashes still wet with tears. “Where are we going?”
Keary shot her a crooked smile. “To play some real life whack-a-mole, bash some heads in. We have some competitors to knock out of the ring. Up for it?”
He hadn’t actually been planning a second raid today, but the nest he had in mind now would be an easy one. Initially, he had intended to go in by himself later this week and take them down without recruiting any help from the others, but seeing as how Mikka sorely needed a distraction as well as an opportunity to vent some of the stress she’d been bottling up, they could just clear them out now. With Kumiko at hand to protect Mikka if necessary, he could afford to let them tag along.
“Wait, hold up,” Kumiko recovered from her shock to interject. “You mean right now, tonight, all of a sudden?”
One dark eyebrow lifted. “Would you like to make an appointment with them first?”
“It’s just that, Mikka hasn’t been out of bed for the last—”
“Nonono! I’mma go!!” Mikka leapt up from the bed, and almost immediately buckled in an ungainly heap of struggling limbs into a luggage case that had been buried under the improvised carpet of clothing. “Wha—?” Her bewildered chestnut gaze darted around to the other three as she tried to get up, and failed. “WHY AREN’T MY LEGS WORKING???” she yowled. Then: "Oh, hey look. It's Shun's kitten."
Kumiko moved to help her to her feet. “You’re just a bit weak from not having anything to eat for a few days. Let’s get you a bite of food first.”
“And a shower.” Finneas wrinkled his nose. “You stink, even from here.”
“RUDE.” Mikka lifted her arm and took a sniff. “Oh—YEUCKK! Waddafuck is that STENCH??? Is it you???” she accusingly asked the embalmed kitten in her hands.
“That’s you.” Keary stepped out of the room, allowing Kumiko to take over. “Wash your mouth out too. Your breath could euthanise an elephant.”
……
