Track Ops: 'Reflection'

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Bryson was quiet the entire way to his house. He occupied his time staring out of a window with a distant, far off look in his eyes. There was nothing of interest out of there; just that he had to keep quiet or he may have burst into tears. For a young boy, Bryson was strong and confident. Recon was what he did best and why not? Setting a couple of coordinates and directions, letting Marce know where everything and everybody was at all times. Marce once remembered commenting that he wanted to learn from Reflection. That "she obviously has 'eyes on' everywhere." She was a Recon Goddess. Back then, Marce scoffed at the thought of Reflection getting anything other than a bullet in their head, let alone praise. Now the thought just made him think about Ace and what she was doing. He checked his phone every 2 minutes it seemed, as if expecting for her to call and curse him out over leaving her there. That was better than nothing.

He wheeled the car off the corner of 70th street and past a strong of nicely constructed houses. The occasional house had a dingy, broken look, much like Arch's apartment, just not as bad. Marce remembered asking Bryson why he decided to stay somewhere with that kind of atmosphere. Bryson simply replied that he had always lived there. Somethings just couldn't be let go.

"So she visited him to see him and found out she wasn't here, then kept on moving to the Bureau."

"That's my guess and the best guess we've got so far." Marce answered. He parked the car on the side of the curb as quietly as he could, making sure that noise was down to a minimum. He wasn't saying that anyone was in Bryson's house, but there could have been. Alex and Bryson's relationship had so many twists and turns. It was a wonder why none of them confessed their feelings yet. One look over to Bryson and how white his face was compared to how red the rims of his eyes were said it all. Marce didn't need to be a Love Doctor to figure it out. It was never good to fall in love in that kind of field, especially with your own partner. Too many risks and dangers. Too much paranoia. Marce was doing good.

"They're setting up perimeter. More men on the way." Bryson chided in. Still doing recon even at the state. Police cars barricaded 70th street.

"Tell them, no sirens, no lights." Marce said to Bob before walking towards Bryson's house. He slowly walked down the alley, studying the doors on the left while Bryson followed, eyeing the units to the right. Bob stayed in the car for information coming in and out from the officers. If Marce and Bryson so much as whistled for back up, all the cops on the street would bombard through the door, guns raised. The higher apartments to his left were big enough to drive a truck through, like the detective said. Marce and Bryson made note of two cars nestled tightly between the open space between the apartments and Bryson's two story home. That must have been them. Marce had almost reached the side door of Bryson's house when he saw a sliver of light peeking beneath the side door. He moved closer, straining to hear sounds.

There was a clang from a metal stair case above him that he paid no attention to.
 
If Marce could see her now..


Ace had doubled back down the alley and looped around a few buildings, crossing with a group and making her way down the side of the street that she needed. She stayed behind a couple of people who were walking and chattering until they turned off down a different street to head to the shops, which forced her to take cover along the buildings and occasionally behind a car. It was appallingly easy to get close to this place - then again, she looked like an unarmed girl who only planned to walk by. Why bother stopping her?


If Marce was here.. He'd probably crap a goat.


Oh well, it was his friend she was after. He should be grateful.


The next part would be tricky. If she shot the man in the car through a window, the noise would alert the two in front of the door. Plus, if she shot at the wrong angle, they'd see the blood splatter. She had no intention of alarms going off sooner than she wanted them too. So, she weighed her choices. Taking out two men standing outside without cover would be just as fast as killing a man in a car. The one in the car was smoking. Left handed. He'd likely step out before taking a shot, giving her that second to turn and blow his brains out before he drew his weapon.


After casually glancing both ways down the street to make sure nobody worth worrying about was watching, she strolled along the sidewalk openly. It must be nice to be a cop, she realized. Wearing a vest that would save your life instead of just walking along in a hoodie and hoping nobody looked too closely. As she was getting ready to pass the Merenzo place, she heard the two by the door laughing about something. Wondering absently what was funny in a place like this, she pulled the gun from the right side of her belt and shot them both in the forehead before they had recognized what she was even holding.


Ew, that made a mess on the door.


Turning, she watched the man in the car shout and scramble out. Predictable. She waited for him to stand, then shot him in the left eye. Sometimes she almost wished things would be more surprising. Maybe she should live on the edge more and go around killing people without a silencer. That'd be interesting.. How far would she get? Halfway through town? It was a curious thought. One that kept her occupied as she strolled up the front steps and pulled the kerchief from one of the dead men's jacket pockets to clean off the door handle and turn it. No sense getting brains on her fingers.


Inside, she took a moment to look around. Small lobby, four Merenzo's. They really should change up their formula a little bit since it obviously wasn't working. To her dismay there were indeed visitors - four of them. That meant her estimate was wrong. She sighed and picked off the Merenzo's first, ignoring the shot that grazed by her wrist close enough to draw blood. Well, that could have been a lot more painful. She took the guests out next, having to switch to her second gun for the last one, then surveyed her work and added a fresh clip to the emptied gun. Eleven down and no alarm raised yet. Hm.


Getting an idea, she pulled out her phone and took a picture of the room that had blood, brains and bodies splattered everywhere. She sent it to Marce after pulling his number out of her pocket, and decided to see if he'd open it after reading the subject that she put it in: 'In case you were wondering what I do to entertain myself when you're not around.'


Sliding her phone back in her pocket, she smirked and strolled into the hallway.
 
Badooding!

Marce and Bryson both froze in their steps when Marce's text message tone rung softly outside the door to Bryson's house. It wasn't loud enough for anyone inside to detect, but between the two operatives, it was the loudest thing for miles around. Bryson slid Marce a look that said 'Don't-you-even-dare-check-a-fucking-text-message-at-a-time-like-this.' As if he needed some reminder. The two of them took one step towards the door, their handguns in a white knuckled grip as they framed the doorway. A man's muffled voice was low and threatening, but Marce couldn't make out what he was saying. Then he heard a scream...Alex's scream.

Bryson shot the lock on his own door and Marce kicked the door in, racing inside. They both took the scene in all at once: broken and shattered glass everywhere, a beam of light flashing through the otherwise darkened dining room. The beam was aimed directly at Alex. Her short crop of brown hair was matted with something sticky that Marce assumed to be blood. She was on her knees on the floor, hands prickled in the shattered glass underneath her. A Merenzo, in the shadows, stood over her holding a metal bar. He was swinging it down on her when Marce shot him.

One shot wasn't enough. The bullet hit him square in the chest, but he just didn't go down. He staggered back, gained his balance, and went to lunge for Alex again. It took two more bullets, one from Marce and Bryson each, to stop the swing in mid air before he crumpled to the ground in a shadowed heap next to Alex. Bryson shot twice more, running towards Alex and grabbing her arm, throwing her behind him. He knelt beside Alex and saw the blood on the side of her face.

"Alex, open your eyes. Look at me." Marce saw the second shadow move just in time. He looked up to see a shadow move between the hallway of the dining room towards the kitchen. With lightening speed, he threw himself in front of Bryson and Alex and fired. The shadow darted out and wildly returned fire. Marce emptied his clip and reached for another in the snug curve of his right breast. The shadow had ammo enough to continue the firing, none of the shots hitting anything. One bullet grazed Alex's stomach, but she was already in too much pain to convulse to more.

"I've got him. Get her out of here."Marce ordered towards Bryson. He fired once more and moved in front of the two, closer to the shadow figure. They heard a click and knew the bastard's weapon was empty now.

"Alright, alright. I'm putting the gun down. Don't shoot. I'm done. I surrender." The voice was strangly calm and tranquil for a man who was two seconds away from death. The shots that reverberated through Bryson's house brought the cops flooding in, a couple huddling around Bryson and Alex while the others zipped to the shadow Merenzo. Marce looked away from the shadow mound to pull out his phone.

'In case you were wondering what I do to entertain myself when you're not around.'

Marce looked down at the picture with his jaw clenching. He thought to send a text back telling her in vivid detail what he would do if she was not in that house when he came there, but he thought against it, slipping the phone back into his pocket before walking out of Bryson's damaged house. Bob was awaiting him, slapping him on the shoulder when Marce was close enough.

"Good fucking work there. You could be a cop, you know that, Jove?"

"Oh yeah? Guess who'd be my first arrest?"
 
After meeting no resistance in the hallway, Ace made her way up the stairs in the back. If she was right, the woman would be on the third floor in the room that they kept for prisoners and hostages. However, if Alex was already dead, then she would be doing this for nothing. That would be irritating, especially since Marce was probably already a little upset about the text. He hadn't responded yet. Maybe he hadn't gotten it.


She stopped on the second floor landing and looked around. Nobody. This was too easy.. Frowning, she went up to the third floor. Why wasn't anybody here? She scanned the rooms absently. Well, Alex wasn't here, but neither was anybody else. There were no guards, no lackeys, nobody. It was dead quiet, but not in a tense way. She tapped the gun in her hand against her chin. There had been guards outside and inside, yet not a soul in the hallways or rooms. No voices, nothing.


Wait.


What about what she had been thinking of earlier? All of the cops in the city were concentrated in one spot, meaning.. The Merenzo's could move and nobody would notice.


"Fuck," she groaned, realizing they had switched residences again.


Now she'd have to track them and waste an afternoon. They would have never done this if Alex was actually here, which meant she'd been wrong. Well.. At least she had killed a few people. She grimaced and hopped out the window, taking the back fire escape down as she grumbled to herself. No point in going out the front door in case any pedestrians had stopped to stare at the dead bodies she had left outside.


Maybe she could even get home before Marce and pretend she'd had that picture in her phone already, and hadn't really left.


Somehow, she doubted it.
 
He looked at the picture 4 more times before he concluded that the bloody mass of body were Merenzo's. The darkened skin of the bodies strewn on the floor gave it away. That, and the greasy hair. Why did all Italians put buckets of tar on their heads all the time? Maybe it was a Merenzo kind of thing. When he looked closer at the pictures, he frowned. Those were a lot of Merenzo's to be in Georgia. Decatur, Georgia, at that. The exact city of the Georgian BAD, he, and Ace. He'd have to do something about that. He'd ask Ace why they were there and what they were hoping to accomplish by being in the state of the Bureau. He had a lot of questions for her, alright.

Ace was wheeled to the same hospital he and Ace were in only 2 days ago. The clerks exchanged glances when the three of them walked in. Apparently they thought Bryson, Alex, and Marce were going to be regulars for a while until the Merenzo thing mulled over. Still, the sight of Alex made them bite their tongues and stroll her to a room on the second floor, giving her transfusions of blood that she lost in the room since her kidnapping. Alex slipped in and out of consciousness, trying desperately to explain to both he and Bryson about what happened. She never got passed dropping Tiffany at her home before her eyes lolled in the back of her head. They didn't need to know the information. Their first priority was making sure that she'd be alright.

Once in the room, Marce relayed that anything Bryson found out from her when she woke up must be told to Marce first, since he had Ace in his home to see if information was correct or not. After that, Bob would be the next to be notified. He'd make the next strategy in the plan to stop them in their tracks. Bryson nodded absentmindedly the entire time Marce filled him in on the next actions. He never took his eyes off of Alex except for once, when Marce grabbed his keys and walked to the door.

"Marce?"

"Yeah."

"How do you think we'll stop them? You know...they're everywhere, aren't they? Those girls?" Marce nodded at him.

"Yeah, they are. But just like Kelly and Alex, we'll get them back."

"Not all of them though, huh?"

"I don't know."

"Anything you do know, Captain?"

"That the more questions you ask, the less answers you're gonna get."

"You got that from a fortune cookie, didn't you?"

"Yeah."

Marce made it to his house at 3:21 after buying a Red Bull. He hated the drink to hell but he had one hell of a morning. He stepped out of the car he parked a ways away from his front door. If Ace was looking for his Nissan before she walked in the house, she'd need a map. He looked at the door and twisted it, remembering he left it unlocked. Locked. Real smooth, Grace. After digging through his pockets, he shoved his key in and opened the door, looking around the house. Empty. Not the way he left it. He through the keys on the counter and tossed the notepad and other items to the couch again, not even bothering to lock the door. She'd be back.

For the meantime, he walked to his room, eyes falling on the outfit Ace was in last night. Once his eyes hit it, he went directly back into the image of her stripping away from them, eyes set directly into his. Why he felt generous enough to respect her wishes, he had no idea. It wasn't like she didn't want him. If she didn't, then why put him in silk boxers? He shifted in his shoes, feeling the silk run over his legs. Why was he still wearing them? Marce made his way into the bathroom, taking off his clothes before running the hot water for the shower. He stood into the shower, smiling to himself while he ran his fingers through his soaked black hair.

He hoped she brought milk on her way home.
 
Wandering through shadowed alleyways and mostly-empty streets as she made her way back to Marce's, Ace had a lot of time to think. At first her mind was occupied entirely with thoughts of the Merenzo problem. They had moved, and her assumption was because they knew she was with Marce, which meant they were aware of the possibility of BAD learning some sensitive information. However, she wasn't conceited enough to think that she was the only reason. The Merenzo morons didn't know just how much information she had. If they did, they would have hunted her down before all of this. So there was another reason that they had moved.


But what was it?


She frowned and set aside those thoughts for now, turning onto Marce's street. If he had found Alex, there was a chance he might be home. A glance at her phone told her that he hadn't responded. Maybe he took it as a joke. Hm. Maybe he hadn't found Alex yet and was still out searching. A cop passed, one that wasn't in a hurry. There were no sirens anymore. She figured BAD had found the woman. Hopefully alive.


Which meant Marce might be home.


As she got closer to the apartment, she saw Marce's car. Shit. She frowned and went up the steps, then blinked as she found the door unlocked. Slipping in silently, she closed the door and looked around. She heard the shower and a grin slowly spread on her lips. Well, he was probably going to kill her anyway. She wandered down to the bathroom and stepped inside without bothering to knock. Perching on the sink, she grinned to herself and crossed her legs.


"Leaving your front door unlocked while you're in the shower? A rookie mistake, Marce.."
 
"I lock it when I feel threatened, dear." he responded. He didn't hear the front door open and close because of the water running down on his head. The only sound in his ears was a waterfall of droplets from the shower head. He added a small dab of shampoo to his hair, running his fingers through his scalp and around his ears, making sure his entire head was covered. It was warm and the stroking of his fingers made it worth the afternoon. Whatever headache that may have been blooming in his head was long gone. He heard the bathroom door open and a smile crept on his lips. The water dripped on the lather that swelled on his head, down his body, and down the drain pipe.

"You know what I'm about to say, don't you? Or do I have to humor you by telling you anyway?"he asked. He paused for a moment to allow Ace to speak before turning around, letting the water hit his back while he added conditioner to his hair.

"I told you to stay here and not to leave the house. Not only did you do both of those things, but you killed, what?, how many people? You're not Batman, Ace. Someone can waltz into that building and find some trace of you in the scene. One little drop or sweat or a piece of hair and you're away for murder. No, but I have to be the bad guy by looking out for you and telling you to stay here, don't I? I just won't let you have your fun, will I?"he asked, rubbing the soap covered towel across his chest with, opening his eyes to look up at the ceiling.

"It's not enough that you killed them, but I bet you didn't even clean after your mess. Do you want to go to jail? I'm curious, Ace. I am."he sighed and let the water run over him, smiling while he looked down at the water gathered around his feet. He'd might as well say what he wanted to. "Nice job. They're one less problem I need to worry about." He sighed outwardly and looked at his cerulean shower curtain with a smirk.

"I hope you're wearing a blind fold."he cooed, pulling back the curtain very...very slowly.
 
"You feel safe with me? That's sweet of you."


Ace grinned to herself and leaned back a little against the wall, keeping her perch on the edge of the sink as she gazed at the shower curtain. The temptation to stand up and peek over the rod was strong, but she ignored it. Now wasn't the time for that. Instead, she just rolled her eyes and mouthed blah blah blah as Marce started to scold her.


"Humor me," she replied flippantly, sticking her tongue out at the shower curtain.


As he obliged her request, she sighed. He was right, of course. Marce Jove, master of being right at the worst of times. She should make him a list sometimes of all the titles she had given him since they met. It might amuse him. She was perfectly aware, of course, that the massacre could be traced to her. It also didn't escape her mind that BAD would probably keep her out of jail until the girls were all back home. If not, she didn't really care.


It hadn't been one of her conditions to not be jailed.


She was going to respond to his curiosity when he went on to say that she had done a nice job. Blinking in shock at the compliment, she smirked and cocked an eyebrow at his neck comment as she watched the curtain twitching. There was no way he would actually.. Wait. Considering last night, maybe he would. She was sorely tempted to find out, but not right now. Instead, she hurled a clean towel over the curtain and hoped it landed on his head.


"Why would I wear a blindfold when there's nothing in here that I don't want to see?" she asked, hopping down off the sink and tugging off her hoodie.


She set her guns and spare clips on the counter, then slipped off her shoes and shorts and leaned against the wall as she waited for him. It was just too hard not to grin, so she didn't bother holding it in.


"Leave the shower on, I want one. I think I got some Merenzo on my hands."
 
Marce got a face full of fabric before he got the chance to pull back the curtain. Nervous as a schoolgirl. Who would have thought, Ace? He decided that her bashful nature would do just as fine as actually looking would have done. He didn't need her to do anything more than that. It was enough knowing that she feared the sight of him. A smile on his face, Marce wrapped the towel around his lower body before pulling the curtain back anyway. He looked dead at her the moment he did, not even bothering to hide the smile.

"Something tells me that having remnants of other men covering you is not a rare thing."he said, passing her by to grab a smaller bath towel, lying it on the floor where the water from his feet had gathered. "You might want to wait a few minutes. I think I used all the hot water waiting for you to come home." There was steam still billowing around his body. Droplets of water snaked their way down his body and eventually soaked into the towel that was wrapped around his waist line. The afternoon was still early, but Marce was not going to leave the house. It wasn't his day off and he should have been at his office, but getting Alex back had screwed up that schedule. Instead, he'd work with Ace from the house.

"Speaking of that, where were you, anyway? Was it at least somewhere where the gunshots couldn't be heard by the public? Silencer or not, Ace, a shot is a shot." He closed his mouth and looked back at her from the doorway of the bathroom. Unlike her, he'd give her some space while she showered and not because he was feeling generous. Marce just had a low resistance. He snaked his fingers through his hair and slicked it back, though a damp strand or two still bent over his brow.

"No. Don't tell me. It was somewhere everyone would notice, wasn't it?"he asked, barely giving her a chance to answer before he pulled his body away from her, groaning.

"Ace."he groaned, muffling his face with one hand. "You're like Thing 1 and Thing 2; always doing the exact opposite of what I say. 'Stay low, Ace.' 'Oh, did you say flaunt myself in public with a gun on my hip? Sure!' 'Don't leave the house, Ace.' 'Oh, you mean kill about 12 men? You got it!' What is with you?"he snapped, facing back to her with a confused glare. Then, it hit him. It was a stupid thought and would sound stupider out loud, but it was a possiblity.

"...You're suicidal, aren't you?"
 
Ace scowled as he mentioned other men, knowing that he didn't just mean killing. She said nothing, just watching him as he stepped on the towel and proceeded to question her.


Seriously? Already?


"I'm not an idiot, Marce," she snapped back at him, then kicked the door shut as he turned away from the doorway and raved about how well she listened to him.


She was frustrated. He was like a pregnant woman going through menopause in the middle of July while shopping in the mall. From one minute to the next she never knew what he wanted. Even when he told her flat out, chances were he'd change his mind. Praising her for getting rid of a dozen scumbags that made it their mission to kidnap little girls, and now he was tearing into her for leaving the house to do it.


And to think the only reason she left was to attempt to help his friend.


She could still hear him talking despite the closed door, of course, and she had no doubt that he would open it back up again so that she could fully enjoy his angst. However, she didn't care. Hot water or not, she wasn't going to stand around and listen to him if she had the opportunity to shower at the same time. So, she started the shower back up and stripped naked, her back to the door. She stepped into the shower and rolled her eyes freely at his accusation.


"If I was suicidal, I wouldn't run from people who tried to shoot me, Marce," she pointed out dryly.


She let the almost-hot water drench her hair, not even bothering to soap up yet. It felt so nice to just stand there and enjoy it - even though she wanted to go back out and start beating Marce over the head with anything readily available.
 
He didn't get halfway through his rampage when Ace slammed the door in his face mid sentence. He managed to keep the annoyance out of his voice until he was done speaking. He stood there, staring at the door, waiting for it to burst into flames at how fiery his glare on it was. If anyone should have been angry, it would be him, and it was him! Ace can't have thought that what she did was justified. So she killed a Merenzo or two. And what? What are those deaths compared to what would have happened if she was caught by the cops? The police and the BAD were two completely different entities. The two had different jurisdictions. There were lines that one shouldn't cross as well as the other. Marce tried his hardest thus far to keep her safe and how did she repay him? By slaughtering men in broad daylight without so much as a frown.

"Ace." He rapped his knuckles against the door. He was still unsure on whether he should waltz in or not. He twisted the knob to make sure it was unlocked and it was. Did that mean she wanted him to come in there? Marce looked down at the brass knob then back to the white door, wrapping again.

"Ace. I know you're listening to me." There was no response. Marce held his tongue and rapped his fingers again, harder. The water would muffle some sound, but he was knocking hard enough to be heard. Still, she gave him no ok-go to walk in. Damn him for trying to be sensitive to her needs. He heard the steady pitter of the water and nothing else. Leaning his forehead on the door, Marce let out the exhale that he had been holding for a while, replacing it with a deep breath. Talking to her was worse than getting wisdom teeth pulled. He braved up and opened the door, closing it directly behind him. Steam wafted onto his face after he just dried it with the towel, but he didn't seem to mind. His eyes were on her silhouette and what she was doing. He saw only a shadowed figured, blurred through the shower curtain and the steam rising from it.

"Weren't you the one who told me you didn't need my gratitude?"he asked, careful not to chide her anymore than he already had.
 
Weren't you the one who told me you didn't need my gratitude?


How dare you make sense at a time like this, Marce. So rude. She rolled her eyes and lathered up her hair until it was a frothy white mess piled high on her head. Swirling it all around in a mock beehive style, she managed to ignore Marce for the moment and amuse herself instead. Not like he was going to go anywhere. She tipped her head back and rinsed her hair clean, figuring that she had been silent long enough to let him know she wasn't overly pleased with him.


"I know what I said."


She started washing off her body with a faint frown, debating saying more. He clearly wanted to talk since he had come back in the bathroom after she kicked the door shut in his face, but he wasn't saying much.


"I wasn't looking for you to be thrilled about me doing you a huge favor and killing off a dozen men who sell preteens to be sex slaves to the highest bidder, Marce," she finally said, knowing that he would probably dislike that one.


She rinsed herself clean, then shut off the shower. If she had been in a better mood, she probably would have walked out naked just to mess with him, but she wasn't. So she reached out, grabbed a towel, and wrapped herself up before stepping out.


"It wasn't my friend I went after."
 
He knew he shouldn't have, but Marce stared at her shadowed image for a long while. He watched her do the same thing he had done minutes ago. Her hands reached up to tousle her hair in water in lather, the shampoo expanding in bubbles. She said nothing about his comment but continued to bathe as if she hadn't heard him at all. Marce looked on, thinking nothing more than that the woman behind that curtain was a beautiful devil in 9 inch heels. She walked her own grounds that people kissed. She did what she wanted with the 'good deed' flag waving behind her as if she had done nothing wrong in the first place. She killed without batting an eyelash and even smiled in memory of it. Ace never ceased to both amaze him and piss him off at the same time.

He looked away from the shadow figure of hers and wheeled himself to the mirror stationed above the sink. His hair was still falling over his eyes, strands collecting in the damp fashion. There was a blow dryer next to him that he had a mind to use, but that would have just made noise and Ace would think he's doing it on purpose. Plus, the wet look suited him for the moment. It made him look more stressed than he actually was. He heard Ace's comment and shot his attention back to the shower, just as she was getting out. Lucky for her, she knew how to navigate her hands around the bathroom, or he would've stolen the towel that she wrapped herself in.

"Would you stop putting that on me already? I know who they are and what they do, but....you don't have to keep reminding me...every...every fucking second..." Marce's hard attitude dropped as he turned away from her, slicking his hair back with one hand to have strands still slide on his forehead. The steam in the room had somehow gotten into his head, making him dizzy and desperate for air condition. He turned away from her, still talking as he threw the door open.

"Thank you. For trying to save Alex. Let's me know you don't completely hate me or the BAD."he murmured, passing by his bed and looking into the closet for a new pair of clothes.

"Brightens my day a little."
 
"I could have gone after her even if I hated both you and the BAD. Maybe I have a soft spot for females."


Ace wasn't really sure why she was upset at the moment, but she figured she would just blame Marce and ignore it. She got her brush from her bag and detangled the mess of dripping curls, then swept them up into a messy and loose bun. No point getting all dolled up to sit around with a pissed off man. She rolled her eyes at that, skipping makeup as well and pulling on a simple tank top and jean shorts. Now dressed, she made her way out to the living room and sorted through the rest of the paperwork.


"This stack is yours, plus this flash drive. Take it to work and you'll have the names and locations of all the girls," she said once he joined her again, setting it all on the couch and putting everything else aside.


She pulled a small mp3 player from the box and a pair of earbuds, plugging them in as she switched the player on. He wasn't going to want to talk to her anyway and she needed a distraction.


From what?


"I won't leave this time," she commented, figuring he'd want to get out of here right away to drop the stuff off. "Unless you're taking me with you to drop me off at the police station, of course. Somebody's got to answer for those tragic deaths."
 
He managed to find his favorite light blue shirt with an abstract design winding on the side of it in white. He didn't know why he liked the shirt so much, just that it felt good on him. It was cotton just like all of his other shirts, but it was softer kind; not too soft to be silk but soft enough to be named a favorite. He looked at the shirt in his hands and tossed it over, examining it like he had never seen it before in his life. Ace had passed him up and made her way through the living room, probably giving him privacy to change. How sweet. The shirt was getting heavier in his hands until he finally made up his mind. He tossed the shirt on the bed and rummaged through for pants instead. He would work at home and be comfortable while he did.

Now bare chested with a long pair of grey, white, and blue basketball shorts on, Marce made his way to the living room to get his work started. He made quite sure to take the red boxers off and hide them somewhere where they would not be found, putting on one of his regulars instead. The house was starting to draft in the cold from the AC but Marce didn't mind. It was a touch better than being in the bathroom with the steam making its way through his brain. If anything, it managed to calm him down. He took a deep breath through his lips while Ace directed him to his new stack of information. He bit back a groan due to more paperwork and decided to pick up the tablet instead.

"47 girls to save as quickly as possible and you don't tell anyone else but me about any of this. Fantastic teamwork." He pulled the tablet up and scanned the little red flags again. He was hallucinating, thinking that he was seeing more than there were two days ago. All of the flags began blending together into one big red blob that covered the entire planet. Marce managed to pull away, looking to Ace, ready for her to give him her sarcastic remark about the teamwork thing. Turns out, she didn't catch a word of it. She had her headphones in to drown him out, but still talked to him as if they had a full out conversation.

He simply looked at her, not opening his mouth to speak or frowning. He just looked at her with the tablet in his hands, the dim back light reflecting onto his chin, neck, and chest. He didn't want to talk to her as much as she didn't want to talk to him, but he was still on the clock. She had to help him get this sorted out; to give Bob information so that he could get the BAD together and ready to jump in different nations. He couldn't do that because Ace was being a little less than supportive.

Story of his life, it seemed.

He stood up, tablet tucked under his arm. He walked over to her and gabbed her hand with no comment. She would probably fuss at him, calm him an asshole, refuse to help him, and probably claim how she was going to sleep on the floor. Marce whisked her to the couch and sat her down, moving a tiny throw pillow out of the way so that she could stretch her feet out if she wanted to. His eyes passed by her face before he sat next to her, holding out the tablet. The flags blinked in his eyes before he moved her hand over East Nigeria, pressing her finger down on the flag, bringing up a picture and an address.

"Tell me about this one."he said softly, not sure if she heard him through the music. He doubted she knew the full background of all 47 girls, but if she was going to help him, she had to talk. He kept his body close to her, warming the right side of her body up with his chest. Marce kept his eyes on the girl, her name, and the bright smile she flashed in her picture.
 
Ace was oblivious, listening to one song as she scrolled through her list to decide what she wanted to listen to next. She had just selected one when she saw a shadow cross over her. That was the only warning she had before Marce took her hand. Blinking, she looked up at him with a frown and allowing him to tug her over to the couch. She flicked the pause and sat down, eying him for a moment suspiciously.


He suddenly wanted her input after she handed him all the answers?


She sighed and tugged out the earbuds, glancing at the tablet as he brought up a girl on the screen. Shrugging slightly, Ace looked away from the happy child. There was no chance she was smiling like that anymore.


"Susan Daigle. Taken from a county fair outside of Kansas City two years ago. She's thirteen now. Single father, mother died when she was four. Height and weight unknown by now but she's still a redhead and likely still has those freckles. She was an honor roll student."


She fell silent for a moment after that, then looked up at him.


"None of that will help you find her. The address is all that matters now."

She was still annoyed with him and feeling moody, but the warmth of his body combined with the pain of being presented with the tablet made her more sad than anything. Sighing, she shifted her body a little and laid her head against him lightly.
 
"Susan."he said to himself, loud enough for Ace to hear him. He didn't question what she said, though it did hurt him. He took a figurative kick in the foot when she told him the small story of Susan. Honor roll student and everything. It made him wonder what reason the Merenzo's would take her. Did they go after specific girls of a certain kind? Maybe they all had some caliber about them? Maybe they all had a high GPA average? Ace didn't think it mattered, but the information gave Marce a good bit to work with. He was no detective but he was always good at finding that missing piece of the puzzle.

Bob was right. Marce would have made a pretty good cop or detective maybe, even though he hated both of them. Arrogance always came with a flashy badge those days.

Her head rested on his shoulder and he could tell she was feeling as defeated as Marce had when he first found out he and the others had 47 girls to save. Knowing that Susan was now 13, how much of her life had she wasted with those men and would she ever be able to make it back up? Will going through high school be as easy as it would have been for her if she was never taken? Would the kids around her give her a hard time or will she just pick up where she left off; being the best student she could be? Marce looked back into those deep green-hazel eyes of hers, cheekbones sitting high with her ear-to-ear smile. He'd be there at her graduation, if she could make it. If the two of them would make it.

Marce never let go of Ace's hand, guiding her finger over to Romania, and pressing it down on another flag. A picture of a girl making a peace sign with her fingers popped up. She had a silly expression on her face, short brown hair falling in very thin strands around her taut face. She wore a simple yellow summer dress it seemed, and whoever had been in the picture was cropped out. Marce sighed despite himself, removing Ace's finger from the screen to give her hand the smallest of squeezes instead.

"And her?"
 
Did he intend to go through all of them?


She gazed at the girl that he brought up next. It didn't matter who it was - she knew them all. Inside out, upside down, backwards. Down to the letter. All of these girls were like her own, in a way. Yet why did Marce want to know? Did it make it more real to him? Sure, it might give motive or something like that, but they were as varied as they could be. If there was a connection, she would have seen it by now. The only common trait she had found was gender - though one boy had been picked up by mistake.


He had been murdered upon realization.


"Emily Nickerson. Taken at five from a crowded shopping mall in Orlando. Just celebrated her eighth birthday and her third year of being gone. She was in a gymnastics class and liked scaring her mother half to death by climbing up the sides of buildings. Her favorite color was yellow."


She bit her lower lip as she fell silent again, pulling her hand away from his to prevent him from calling up another flag, her body curling closer to his.
 
Marce had nothing to say on Emily. He just watched her silly face winking at him through the computer screen in that yellow dress of hers. He watched her for so long he thought he was watching the movie of her life. He saw her climbing those buildings, buck teeth poking out through her wide toothed smile as her mother shouted her name in fear. The woman knew her daughter would be fine, but it still bothered her how she was scaling those walls in nothing but her skirt! Marce saw the young girl giggling, imagining how she may have snorted when she did so. He started to wonder what she looked like now. Was her hair still brown or was it a matted black, covered in dirt and soot? How long had it been since she wore the color yellow?

His hand got lighter when Ace pulled hers away from him. He looked over at her and felt the pain on her face. Yes. He felt the pain. He had just looked from the smiling face of Emily Nickerson and into the somber face of Grace. She was broken. Emily's parents and friends were just as broken. They had lost something precious to them; someone close. Marce realized how hard it must have been for Ace. She knew just about all there was to know about every single one of the girls that were gone. How many times had she tossed and turned in her sleep thinking about them? Did they visit her in her dreams or in her nightmares?

His fingers found the side of her arm. She didn't pull too far away from him but he got the point. Telling him about the girls didn't make it any easier on either one of them and he knew it. Still, he was on the clock. He had to get some kind of work done. He pulled his gaze down to her inked arm, seeing the tattoos wrap around her forearm. He never really got the chance to look at them. Every time she got close to him, he was expecting her to swing a jab at his jaw or some other area of his face. Now, it was her who came close to him so he was not responsible for his actions.

He trailed his fingers on the ink markings, slowly touching her arm with the tips of his fingers.

"What about this? What does this mean?"he asked softly.
 
At first she didn't respond to him. Her eyes had followed the trail that his fingers were taking, and she knew that he was examining the art that she chose to wear on her body. There were so many stereotypes out there about tattoos - and that had been what drew her to them. At first, anyway. There was a certain thrill at doing something that got you even more immediately judged than the rest of the human race. Of course, the judgement wasn't always bad. She had been offered a job once just because the guy knew she wasn't a prissy bitch thanks to these. That was a long time ago, though, and anybody with a tattoo knows that they aren't just pictures.


They're stories.


"I got that one when I was eighteen. My best friend in the entire world came with me and got the matching half. It would spell out 'sisters' if it was whole. She was so proud of herself for overcoming her fear of needles. A week later she was mugged and thrown from an overpass. Her parents never forgave me for giving them a 'tainted' daughter to bury," she explained quietly as his fingers touched a bracelet tattoo around her right wrist with half of a star charm that said 'sis' in elegant writing.


She shifted her arm and pointed to a swirling script on the inside of her right arm, near the shoulder. It was hidden unless she held her arms up or to the side. All it said was 'Love is..' but there were faint lines under it.


"This one has a UV tattoo under it that says 'an illusion'. You can't see it unless you shine a blacklight on it."


She turned and glanced down at the upper portion of her left arm that was covered in script and a scene of birds with twigs.


"This is a copy of the writing on my grandparents tombstone. My grandmother always enjoyed birds. I thought it was fitting," she murmured, then swept her shirt up and turned her back to him. Across the small of her back was 'Our future reflects our past'.


"I feel like I don't have to explain that one.." she said, pulling her shirt down before he could see or ask about the scars. She shifted and pointed to various pieces on her legs, purposely avoiding the bow on her left wrist.


"That one was for my birthday - I was drunk, I don't normally enjoy rose tattoos that wrap around the calf like that. That one there was a practice piece I did on myself. It doesn't look quite like I wanted, but I had to make it into stars because I made a mistake.."


Once she had explained almost all of them, she fell silent again and looked down at her hands. There were tattoos that he couldn't see without her stripping, but she wasn't going to mention that. None were inappropriate in anything but location, but it would be more stories.


More sharing.


Sharing the stories of others was what had started this entire conversation. The stories of little girls who were being abused in every way possible, every single day. She closed her eyes and took a breath, then opened them and looked up at Marce.
 
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