Vincent got into his car, ignoring the pounding pressure in his head. He turned on his music, some Giuseppe Verdi, and just let Rigoletto flow over him.

He let the entire song play and switch to the next one before he started the engine and pulled out of the garage.

The house had become suffocating in the last few days. It choked the life out of him, and her constant lurking around made him jumpy. He wasn’t scared of her, not for being an assassin. He was terrified of what knowledge she might have.

He’d once told her that no one knew Axel better than he did. He’d never realized how wrong he could be. He’d never realized how depraved and awful his brother truly was. How cruel. He’d known Axel was a dangerous, sick man but never that sick. Vincent couldn’t wrap his head around how someone could survive a hell like hers and keep going.

One foot in front of the other.

He wished he could channel whatever inner strength she had because he was falling apart. He could hold it together, just barely. Just enough to keep on with what he was supposed to be doing. He needed to be okay because if he fell apart, the team did.

He needed to get the cat and the boy off his mind. He needed to get Jon out of his head, the brain matter all over the wall, the sound of the gunshot, and his guilt over causing that. He needed to get her scars and her body out of his thoughts. He needed to stop thinking about her playing with a boy he didn’t know.

Nothing would get that boy off Vincent’s mind.

A boy named Henry. A nephew he would never meet or even visit in his grave. A charge she had taken care of and Axel had used against her. A son his brother had murdered in a fit of anger. Vincent, that first night back at the house after Atlanta, had locked his door and broken down. He’d been crushed. He still was. For Henry, the bonded animal, and the woman who connected all of them together. Without her, Vincent would have never known any of it. And that was Vincent’s fault.

“Antonio,” Vincent whispered, as regret festered in his heart, “if I had known in the warehouse, I would have killed you then.”

His brother was over one thousand miles away, locked in a dark cell by himself, awaiting sentencing from the WMC. He would get the death penalty, that much was certain. The only thing that wasn’t certain was when. It was entirely possible that he would be kept alive until all his operations around the world were completely shut down. Until he sold his allies down the river, and as long as he had something to tell them, he could keep himself alive.

Vincent drove to a local bar in town as Giacomo Puccini’s works washed over him. Vincent’s particular favorites were Pavarotti singing to the great classics, especially Puccini’s works. He absorbed it for a little while longer before cutting the engine and getting out.

He had one idea for tonight. Get hammered and pretend, for just one evening, that none of this had happened. He could do that for just one night. He could pretend he hadn’t driven a man to suicide. He could pretend that everything wasn’t his fault.

He stepped into the bar, Harry’s, and gave a small smile at the raucous country music. He saw Jasper and Zander in a booth, already nearly done with their—Vincent counted the empty glasses–third, maybe fourth round.

“Hey, guys,” Vincent greeted them in a mumble, sitting down. “You only left an hour before me.”

“Yeah, well,” Zander scoffed. “Fuck it. I said I was getting drunk, so I am.”

“Amen,” Jasper groaned out, holding up a half-finished whiskey. Vincent nodded slowly as a waitress came over with Vincent’s regular drink, a cheap scotch. He sipped it as Jasper downed the whiskey. Holy shit, Jasper was going to kill himself at that rate, the lightweight.

“Who’s watching her?” Jasper asked, his speech a little slurred.

“Elijah… probably has Quinn with him now, too.” Vincent sighed, giving up on sipping. He downed his entire drink in two swallows. “She was eating fucking fried rice last time I saw her.”

“Jesus,” Jasper grumbled. “I can’t fucking handle this, Vincent.”

“We don’t have a choice. At least it’s just her for you,” Vincent muttered, feeling a bit pissy himself. “I have a…” Dead nephew.

He didn’t say the words out loud—had yet to say them out loud since he had found out. But the guys knew exactly what he was referencing.

Vincent was particularly bitter over the fact that he could have been trying to catch Axel at that time, but the IMPO had told Vincent he was too young. He’d been untrustworthy. He could be used by Axel against the Organization.

“How’s everything with you?” Zander’s mental voice entered his mind, drunk in his head, just like Zander was slurring in reality. They rarely spoke using telepathy. Vincent and Zander could both do it. So if they wanted a private conversation, they could have one. They rarely needed to. “Have you… talked to her about all that stuff? Have you talked to anyone about what you saw in the hospital? With Jon?”

“I can’t right now, Zander,” Vincent replied, sending the words back to Zander. “I’m barely holding it together. And furthermore, I would like to ignore that entire topic. We were notably not given invitations to those funerals.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Vin. Jon and his team, the decisions he made… they weren’t your fault.”

“I know.”

He did know that. He’d taken what Quinn had said to heart, and the team reminded him every time they got the chance. And Vincent kind of understood why Jon did it. If Vincent had failed his team so spectacularly, broken the code, tried to set other agents up, and gotten people killed like that… Vincent would have strongly considered ending it the same way.

They sat in silence for a moment. Vincent knew Zander was just trying to do his duty as friend and healer, but the hothead was the last person Vincent wanted to talk about Sawyer with. Or Jon. Or any of it.

“This sucks,” Zander mumbled, getting the silent message loud and clear. “Let’s just get drunk.”

“Tomorrow we go back to normal,” Jasper reminded them. “She’s on the team now. We got to… I don’t know, be fucking teammates.”

“You are just losing your mind, aren’t you?” Vincent huffed looking at Jasper. Here he was, their Golden Boy, the one with a rigid sense of morality. And he was madly in love with a woman who was guilty of crimes including, but not limited to, assault, theft, and murder. He nearly felt bad for Jasper. Vincent didn’t, though, because he felt Jasper needed that kick in the head to remember the world wasn’t black and white. It took him a year to get over being on Vincent’s team, thanks to his Castello background. Hopefully, even though Sawyer’s background was worse, they wouldn’t have such a hard time of it this go around.

“Fuck, yeah I am,” Jasper moaned, putting his head on the table. “Being drunk helps, though.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Vincent mumbled. His second drink came and then a third. They lived way down in southern Georgia, where the towns were tiny and the communities were close. While the team didn’t engage with the locals frequently, the town remembered them. They would hit the bar after a rough case, and what they drank was remembered and kept flowing.

This had definitely been a rough, strange, weaving case. It technically wasn’t over, since Sawyer was an extension of everything that had happened. And Axel wasn’t sentenced, yet. They were on vacation until that moment, until the WMC handed down Axel’s verdict.

“We agreed to this,” Vincent sighed. “We agreed to it before we even knew…”

“You know,” Zander started with a huff, “I’d do it again. I just wish that she had just been what she was. It would almost be easier if she was just—"

Just an assassin.

Vincent knew what Zander was trying to say. It would have been easier if she had just been an assassin. Not a victim of an awful game, a horrifying relationship, or his brother’s plaything. That was weighing on them all—a cloak of darkness that had blanketed the team since she had decided to tell them everything.

Their newest teammate was a scarred, maimed creature, destroyed by Axel and then rebuilt to do horrendous things. She was a creature who went through another transformation into stalwart protector of the weak because of her creator.

It would have been easier if she was just an assassin. Just a professional.

“Not here,” Jasper groaned. “People are around. But yeah. I get what you’re saying, Z.”

Vincent listened to them for nearly an hour as they all knocked back drinks. They were Magi, and the energy of their magic would burn it off faster than non-Magi, but they were still getting plastered.

“You know what sucks?” Zander suddenly asked loudly, making people look at their booth. Zander wasn’t any quieter when he continued. “I still want to sleep with her.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Jasper growled. “Stop thinking with your dick for just a few minutes. She doesn’t need you panting around while—"

“You mean you don’t need me panting around while you try to lock lips with her, again.” Zander growled back. Vincent noted the playful tone to Zander’s voice and frowned. Again?

“That’s not what I meant!” Jasper hissed. “You know it!”

“Again?” Vincent asked out loud, looking at the friend next to him. Jasper went red and began to mumble.

“He kissed her like… a week before we headed out to Atlanta.” Zander laughed. “Then had the balls to come to me and say people just shouldn’t be kissing her.”

“You’re both a couple of teenagers.” Vincent sighed, finishing his next drink. He didn’t know what number it was. The waitress had been kind enough to clean off the table the last pass she’d made.

He also didn’t like the gnawing feeling in his chest at the idea of one of them all over her. He’d known it would happen eventually. They had a substantial history with her, friendly and romantic. He didn’t know how much or how deep it went, but he knew it was there.

Before, he’d wanted to find out more about her. He had wanted to delve into her and uncover her secrets, expose her, see how sharp she could get with him. He’d wanted to hear about her life with Jasper and Zander from her, not them.

Now he nearly felt like he knew too much and about all the worst things.

“What time is it?” Jasper mumbled, looking over Vincent’s shoulder at his watch. Vincent held his arm up so he and Jasper could both read it.

“Nearly ten.” Vincent sighed. “You two done being children over who kissed whom? When I specifically told both you and Elijah that trying to do that wasn’t allowed?”

He didn’t feel the need to worry about Quinn. There wouldn’t be any point in telling Quinn to do or not to do anything of that nature.

“Yeah, sure, but since she’s going to be with us for five years… I think we should throw that rule out the window.” Zander laughed. “Five years, Vincent.”

“I’ve already given up,” Vincent mumbled, rolling his eyes. “I knew the moment she agreed to the WMC’s contract that there was no stopping this.”

He just hoped he could stop himself. In his current state, if she crooked a finger, he was fucking done for. He would purposefully rile her up, just to see what happened—just to see how much her tongue could lash him before the end.

That thought, as drunk as he was, made him fucking hard. Which made him worried about his sanity.

His brother was still hanging between them, and he needed to remember that. Vincent wouldn’t blame her for never wanting to see his face again, much less not wanting to entertain his thoughts.

“Thank the gods!” Zander roared, making people around the bar cough. “I can try to win her heart!”

“And then you’ll break it because you don’t know how to handle something that valuable,” Jasper mumbled.

Vincent rolled his eyes again. He came out drinking with Hopeless One and Hopeless Two. He should have known it would go down this route.

“That’s why I have you. To keep me in check, and it’s Sawyer. I would never hurt her. Look, the Axel shit is done. She’s on the team. We can worry about the rest later.” Zander was still laughing.

Vincent groaned as another drink was brought his way. He sipped it and lit a cigarette as the two of them kept talking about how appropriate or inappropriate the entire situation was.

“Why don’t you both cool your heads for a moment?” Vincent asked, taking a long drag on his cigarette. “She obviously has some stuff to work out, and I’m not sure it’s something that can be rushed.”

“Here comes Vincent,” Zander mumbled, glaring at him, “ruining the fun.”

“Yes,” Vincent confirmed, pulling an ash tray closer to him so he could flick the ash without making a mess. “That’s me. Worried about the mental health of one of my new agents. Such a buzzkill.” While the thought was cohesive, the words coming out Vincent’s mouth were a slurred mess. Thankfully, this was a case of drunk people having the amazing ability to understand other drunk people.

“Fuck,” Zander muttered, settling down. “She’s pretty, though.”

“Pretty doesn’t cover it,” Jasper mumbled, even worse off than Vincent and Zander. Jasper didn’t normally drink. It just wasn’t his style. Vincent was honestly amazed that the golden boy was drinking tonight, no matter the circumstances.

Vincent glared as the waitress handed him a check.

“We’ve been cut off,” Vincent complained as Zander made the water in a pitcher do a little dance. That would be why. The locals didn’t appreciate the team getting drunk and using their magic. Jasper was causing bubbles of water to float high above and pop over the sides. Zander wasn’t even supposed to be using his magic at all, for health reasons, and there was Jasper, helping him mess around. They were the only Magi within fifty miles, except the old lady who helped them around the house, and she was harmless. They also stopped letting her around the house weeks ago, preferring to clean up for themselves since Sawyer had come to live with them.

“About time,” Jasper groaned. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Yeah!” Zander jumped up.

Vincent moved so Jasper could try to get out of the booth, then laughed as Jasper tried to stand, forgetting he needed crutches and nearly going down. Vincent and Zander caught him, making all three of them list to one side.

“Where are your crutches, asshat?” Zander growled, hauling Jasper up. Vincent tried his best to stop laughing. He really did.

“Uh.” Jasper frowned. Vincent saw their waitress bring them over, and he took them from her with a smile.

“Thank you for keeping these safe,” Vincent chuckled, handing them to Jasper. The waitress only nodded with a perturbed look and left. Vincent handed them one at a time, somehow, to Jasper who bitched and moaned about it.

“I hate this,” he grumbled.

“We’ll get Elijah to make you a peg leg,” Zander joked, helping Jasper out of the bar. It was a disaster, Vincent realized. Jasper was too drunk to properly use the crutches, Zander was too drunk to help him, and Vincent was too drunk to really care about the collision with the door they were about to have.

Sure enough, Jasper tripped over one crutch with the only foot he had. Zander slammed his knee into the other crutch. The door, which Zander had pushed open, swung back and slammed into Jasper.

Vincent threw his head back and laughed, staggering into a big burly farmer who glared at him. Vincent was still laughing as he stumbled over the tangle of bodies and crutches on the floor in front of the door. He made it outside, grabbed the back of Jasper’s shirt and pulled, dragging him onto the sidewalk. Zander stumbled his own ass out, bringing along the crutches.

“Hurry up and get out before you three break something!” The bartender yelled, and Vincent continued to laugh as he pulled Jasper to his one leg, and Zander forced a crutch into his hands.

“Shit, let’s go,” Vincent whispered conspiratorially, trying to hold back the hilarity he was feeling.

“Yeah, come on, Peg Leg.” Zander laughed, giving Jasper a nudge before he was properly balanced. Balance which was impossible in Jasper’s state because that nudge only led to another crash, this time onto the sidewalk and the gravel lot of the tiny bar, making them laugh more.

“Boys, who do I need to call to get you out of here tonight?” The owner stomped out, and Vincent began to laugh harder.

“I’ll call Elijah, Dwayne!” Vincent grinned at him.

“Sorry. Jasper here is a leg down right now,” Zander said, laughing and pulling Jasper back up. “We’re working on it.”

“You boys,” Dwayne grumbled, going back inside.

Vincent pulled his phone out and hit Elijah’s face. It only rang twice, and Elijah was on the line.

“Need a ride?” Elijah asked, a laugh evident in his voice.

“Yeah.” Vincent chuckled. “We need a pick up at Harry’s.”

“I’ll bring help,” Elijah told him and hung up.

Vincent, Jasper, and Zander all ended up sitting on the curb, waiting.

“He said he was bringing help,” Vincent whispered, though it wasn’t a quiet one. It made a passerby look at him oddly, and Vincent waved, causing the local to walk a little faster.

“Quinn can’t drive, so it looks like our rides are going to be left here tonight.” Zander groaned.

“Sawyer can drive,” Vincent reminded him. “She might take one of them home.”

“That’s right!” Zander threw a finger up like he was pointing at the light bulb that must have gone off over his head. Vincent snorted.

It took a while, but Elijah, Sawyer, and Quinn did show up. They parked right in front of them.

Sawyer looked at her old friends, then to Vincent. “I’ll take Vincent,” she mumbled, grabbing him under arm and hauling him up. “I’m obviously driving. Are you going to bitch about that?”

“Nope,” Vincent said brightly.

“Good Lord, he is drunk.” Elijah laughed. “Come on, Quinn, let’s get Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum.”

“Uh?” Quinn frowned at everyone.

“Zander and Jasper.” Elijah sighed. Vincent laughed as Quinn realized who Elijah was referring to. They needed to catch that guy up on everything. Elijah’s Alice in Wonderland reference had flown right over his head. “I’ll explain later,” Elijah said, pulling Zander up.

“Why can’t we go with Sawyer?” Zander whined. Jasper didn’t say a word, but if he had, Vincent would have missed it. Sawyer was patting his pockets, and Vincent nearly had a heart attack as she shoved her hand in his pocket.

“Woah!” Vincent gasped, trying to pull away. He hadn’t been expecting this. Not that it wasn’t amazing, but he didn’t need her feeling his erection.

“Your keys, idiot,” Sawyer growled, pulling her hand back out of his pocket and jingling the keys.

Oh. That makes sense.

He must have said that out loud because Sawyer responded.

“Doesn’t it? Oh, how the mighty fall with a bit of drink in them,” Sawyer mumbled. She began to drag him toward his car, and he chuckled, remembering something wonderful.

“You’re one to talk,” he teased, hoping to get her riled up. “A couple drinks and a cowboy. The end of the great assassin named—"

Her hand clamped over his mouth, and his back hit his car.

“Not. In. Public.” She snarled.

He nodded behind her hand. He liked her there, pressed up against him, glaring. One hand on his mouth, another wrapped up in his shirt, ready to kick his ass. Something was so fucking wrong with him.

“Get in.” She removed the hand from his mouth and let him go with the other. He heard the beep of his car being unlocked. The passenger door opened, and he was pushed in. He was still fighting with the seat belt as Sawyer walked around the front and got in the driver’s side. When the car started, and she began pulling out, she looked over to him. “Never. In. Public.”

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, realizing how uncomfortable he’d made her.

“Why are you hammered?” she asked, getting them onto the road.

“Why did you get me and not your boys?” he asked back.

“Because I have the feeling you won’t get handsy,” Sawyer told him blandly.

“No, I distinctly remember you molesting me,” Vincent reminded her. He’d liked it.

“Keys, Vincent. I was getting your keys.” Sawyer sighed. “Now, I answered yours, so you answer mine. That’s the little game we play, follow the rules.”

“I like to have a drink occasionally.” Vincent growled. He hadn’t called Elijah to get chastised by Sawyer.

“A drink,” she muttered. Vincent loved the thick sarcasm of it.

They sat in silence for a moment after that. Vincent crossed his arms over his chest as Sawyer frowned at his choice in music. Then he heard her start singing to it softly, and that amazed him.

“You know Puccini?” he asked as the song ended and another started up.

“I do.”

“How?” He was flabbergasted. He adored it. She didn’t have a singing voice, and her Italian wasn’t the best in the world, but she knew the words to his favorite music.

“You know how,” she answered softly, looking sad.

Vincent swallowed and felt his blood run cold. His stomach did jumps as he realized what she was talking about. The knowledge of his music. Her ability to play chess.

So much about her was him.

A creature he’d created.

“Pull over,” he groaned. She slammed the brakes and got them to the grass on the side of the road. He barely got his seat belt off and door open, falling out of the car to vomit in the grass.

He didn’t hear her get out, only felt her hand on his back.

“A drink, he says,” Sawyer mumbled sarcastically. She didn’t say anything else, only helped him get back into the car. This time, she handled the seatbelt, and Vincent just sat there, a bit defeated and ashamed in himself. He’d never lost it on the side of the road before. That was gross. He felt dirty.

When they were moving again, he let her change the music to a local country station without complaint. He listened to her sing along to those songs, as well.

“What were you doing when Elijah brought you to pick us up?” Vincent asked, wishing he had a water to get the awful taste out of his mouth.

“We were watching movies. Me, him and Quinn,” Sawyer answered, turning down their driveway. “Quinn’s knowledge of movies is terrible.”

“Yup,” Vincent mumbled. “We’ve been trying to get him caught up, but work and other obligations always get in the way.”

“You should show him the Godfather. He might like that one,” Sawyer offered, and Vincent knew she didn’t put any thought into it.

“The Godfather has never been played, nor will it ever be played in this house,” Vincent grumbled, crossing his arms again.

“I’m not even going to ask.” Sawyer sighed. “I don’t think I need to.”

“Good,” Vincent mumbled. He felt immature about it, but he hated that movie. It was too close to home. Mob family, madness, under-handed dealings.

That had him thinking about his father, which had him thinking about Axel. That had him thinking about their mother, their uncles and aunts, and their cousins. Now Henry.

Gone. All gone. Married off, in hiding, or dead. Absorbed by other families or out of the game. All that was left, for years, were Axel and Vincent and the silent war they waged against each other.

He felt the car stop and realized they were in the garage. He pushed out of the car, stumbling a couple steps. He ran into Sawyer and frowned.

“Blinking,” he mumbled petulantly. That was the only way she could have gotten in front of him from the other side of the car.

“That’s right,” Sawyer sighed. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“You use your magic a lot,” he noted as she pulled him through the house and up the stairs.

“Only recently.”

“Why?”

“You like asking questions,” she said, using his own curt, observant tone.

He did. He liked to pick people apart and see how they thought, how they worked. People were puzzles, pieces of games that he could position how he wanted them once he knew their inner workings.

Sawyer was the hardest puzzle he’d ever encountered. He just didn’t get her sometimes. The arrogance matched with a crippling guilt. Shadows in her eyes, yet a smile on her face and a laugh in her voice.

“I do.” He leaned on wall as she opened his door. “I like understanding people.”

“You like thinking you know everything,” she corrected him. He frowned at her. “The only difference between you and Jasper in that regard is that he likes tangible things. How mechanics work. Science. You go for the obscure stuff like how people think, what secrets they’re hiding from you. And once you think you have figured it out, you use that information like no one’s business.”

“Don’t act like you know everything,” he huffed, going into his room. He didn’t like her observation. It made him sound like Axel. Vincent was not his fucking brother.

“I’m not.” Sawyer sighed. Vincent didn’t like how patient she was being. He wanted an argument. He wanted the snarky remarks and the arrogant posture. All he saw right then was a woman who was tired but willing to put up with him.

She didn’t make any fucking sense, and it was driving him batshit insane. It also intrigued him immensely.

He tried to pull his shirt off and nearly fell over. She grabbed him and helped. She pushed him to sit down on the bed, and he prayed she wasn’t paying attention to how much he liked the idea of her pushing him around like that.

Something was seriously wrong with him.

She went down on a knee and he swallowed at the idea of her there. He watched her get his boots off him and then stand back up.

“Good night, Vincent,” she said, turning and leaving him there.

He growled. He was hard as a rock, drunk, confused, and a little pissed off.

“Unfair,” he mumbled to himself. A reminder of a cold truth. “The world is so unfair.”

He pulled his pants off somehow and ignored his raging hard on. It didn’t deserve his attention. It wasn’t allowed to be attracted to her. It just wasn’t, not after everything else. It was one thing for her to be Axel’s… ex. That, he might have been able to live with.

Being Axel’s assassin? Axel’s victim in a horrible game of blackmail, extortion, and abuse?

Vincent didn’t know how he felt about her anymore. Admiration? Terror? Ashamed of his family for what his brother did to her? Himself? He just didn’t know.

He did know he fucking hated his brother.