Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Consider it a show of goodwill.” Giran said. “It will give you something to do, and when you’re ready to retire your old one, I’ll pass it down to one of our drivers.”

“We have more drivers now?” Vaun asked. “So I won’t have to do it?”

“I’ll only ask you to run delivery or pickup if I feel it’s absolutely necessary.” Giran said. “Which, gods willing, will not be often. I’d rather keep you close.”

The time since their “vacation” had been about as close to blissful as Vaun could consider. Mara had had a blast, and Giran even helped her catch up on some school work while Vaun was doing jobs.

Despite his reservations about Mara being involved in his work, Vaun had warmed up to the idea. He really hadn't had a choice. For one, she insisted Giran attend her birthday party.

It was clear that Mara liked him. It was also very apparent that Giran had formed quite the soft spot for her. And there was no putting the cat back in the bag; Mara knew what they were doing, in a loose sense of things at the very least.

The week after the vacation, Mara had fully broken down, realizing that she'd killed two people. Vaun honestly couldn't imagine what that kind of burden was on her. Hell, he couldn't imagine how it felt as a fresh teenager to grapple with inevitable death.

Vaun had been an adult the first time he'd killed someone. He had still fallen apart afterward, even thrown up all over himself.

Mara was too strong, too smart. She was too good for this life.

When he'd voiced this to Giran, however, the bastard just blew smoke at him and said, “You were too.” And Vaun hadn't any idea how to respond.

There was no hiding Mara from what they did. That much was clear now. She seemed excited by the idea of being in the know, too. Vaun knew he should be thankful that keeping the secret wasn't wearing her down like it would most kids, but he felt more guilty that he'd put her in this situation to begin with.

Sneaky child she was, she would steal Vaun’s phone and call Giran to complain about him. They'd sit there and talk about him in earshot. They traded music recommendations. She brought him a book from her school library and told him to read it. She talked to him about how to encourage Michelle as she navigated social transitioning.

Vaun hated that there was any bitter taste to the way his daughter was flourishing. He hated that sickly warm feeling in his stomach when he saw them at his kitchen table, Giran reading aloud from the textbooks and prompting her for her homework answers so she didn't have to strain her failing eyes.

He hated that he hadn't felt that sickly feeling since he found his wife dead in a pool of her own blue-grey vomit. He felt guilty for feeling it again, especially for his boss. Especially for someone who couldn't feel the same way.

And now, here Giran was, giving him a kit that included everything he needed to build a new car from the ground up. One that would start with a purr instead of a deafening screech. One that would start on the first try.

Vaun admittedly wasn’t confident in his knowledge of cars, but he started learning more. Naively, he thought he could build it in a week. That’s how long he wanted it to take. After all, it would be more reliable than what he had. That was incentive enough, right?

“Dad, you've been cursing so loud. I half expected to find a dead body in here with you.”

“If anyone dies, it'll be me.” Vaun sighed. “I'm not sure I can build this.”

“It can't be that hard.” She remarked. “Let me get my glasses, maybe I can help.”

Thirty minutes later and they were both sitting at the table, the instructions he'd dug up between them. Both of them with their heads in their hands.

“This is the worst.” She said. “Tell Giran this is cruel and unusual punishment.”

Vaun sighed. “I’ve accomplished more difficult things than this. I can figure this out.”

“Do you even know how to change oil?” Mara asked. “Or change a flat tyre?”

“I do, actually.” Vaun said.

She grunted, pushing up from her seat. “Let’s get something deep-fried for dinner. That’ll help.”

He stared at her. “I fail to see how that will make this manual legible.”

“Just trust my gut. If I’m wrong, we’ll be irritated but full of food that tastes like regret.”

He shrugged. “Might as well, I suppose. Not sure how much I trust an empty gut, though.”

Mara pretended to gag. “Save the dad jokes for your boyfriend.”

“Mara.” Vaun said sternly.

“Sorry.” She smirked. “Your sugar daddy.”

“Mara!”

She squeaked and rushed toward the car, giggling.

Vaun would refuse to admit that Mara had been right. Once they ate something, he came back to the manual and managed to puzzle out how to start, at least. Mara followed him into the garage and listened to him putter about for a while, before saying she was sleepy and headed to bed.

Vaun made some decent headway, then decided to turn in as well.

Giran hadn’t called tonight, he’d noted. He’d checked his phone no less than seven times.

As he passed the curtain of seashells, heard Mara snore lightly, he lingered there, smiling.

He’d have to thank Giran later.

Now that Giran had other people to boss around, Vaun found himself with the kind of free time he’d been afraid to admit he needed. When he ran out of things to do around the house, he always found himself in the garage, working on that goddamn car.

Annoyance slowly turned to confidence. He spent more and more time in there.

Mara had taken to sitting in the garage with him, sometimes doing homework, sometimes just half-laying in the little wicker chair he’d found at a second-hand store, listening to him tinker. Every now and then, she’d ask him a question about what he was doing, and he’d explain as best he could what part he was assembling, how it worked.

He had no idea if she was actually listening or cared about car parts, but decided that wasn’t what mattered. They were spending time together again.

When he’d get back from visiting Giran, doing odd jobs, or going to the store, more often than not, Mara would come to meet him in the garage and turn on the lamp so he could see in the dark.

Half the time, she didn’t wear her glasses anymore. Vaun tried not to think about that, told himself they might just need to go to the optometrist again, get her some new ones to keep up with the degradation.

He could almost forget that she unflinchingly killed two men. He wondered how she was handling that, since she hadn’t mentioned it since the initial breakdown. He tried not to wonder how that interacted with her own adjacency to mortality.

He’d been working on the car for weeks now, keeping his hands busy and his mind busier, so he couldn’t think as much about all that. It was quite possibly the closest thing to meditation he’d ever had.

Mara had brought a bluetooth speaker into the garage, and they had music on in the background, and she’d described his music taste as “dad but gay” and he’d just shrugged and said that it fit like a glove. They even spent time looking for new music (“new” meaning new to them, as most of the music ended up being decades old) sometimes together, sometimes apart. Their phone messages were bogged down with links to songs.

The upbeat, electronic cover of a classic he’d played for her earlier in the month was a backdrop for now, the queue full of covers she’d picked out while at school, sneaking to the bathroom to look for new ones. She might not even have gotten sick every time, but admonishing her for not focusing on schoolwork wasn’t working much.

She was still excelling, despite everything. He couldn’t fault her on those grounds.

“Are you gonna customize it?” Mara asked.

“Of course.” He said idly. Currently, he was on his back under the thing. Wrench in hand, face smeared in multiple places with gods knew what. It felt… good. It felt nice to be filthy but not with blood.

“What do you have in mind?” She asked. There was a noticeable extra bit of excitement to this line of questioning than the mechanical aspects.

Vaun smiled. “I’m open to suggestions. Haven’t put much thought into that yet.”

He’d glanced over at her. Could barely see her, dangling in the chair, staring up at the ceiling without her glasses, eyes unfocused. The chair protested, threatening to topple. Then she relaxed and said, “I think… brass hardware.”

“Brass?”

“Well, it’s gold-colored for the most part. But less expensive.”

He chuckled. “Oh?”

“Y’know what else would look nice with it?”

“What?”

“Dark purple upholstery.”

“Ooh, that does sound nice.”

“I think that’s my favorite color.” She said. “Y’know, like plum but darker. It’s very comforting.”

He chuckled. “Should I get some of those fuzzy dice to hang on the mirror?”

“Ugh, no. That sounds like a Giran idea.” She said, audibly wrinkling her nose.

“You’re right. Thought it would sound more dad-like, though.”

“More pimp-like.” She said.

“Are you saying Giran’s a pimp?”

“I don’t have to see him to know he still dresses like one.”

Vaun’s head thumped back against dirty concrete as he laughed, the tool falling out of his hand with a small clatter. When he glanced over at her again, he could see she was smiling. Proudly. And his heart warmed.

Finally, he started working on it again. Idly, he asked, “What about a name?”

“What?”

“Well, a good car needs a good name.”

“Hmm. And you want me to help you pick one?”

“We’re a team, aren’t we?”

“A team where you do all the work.” She said. “No better than a high school project.”

“Hey, now. I value your moral support.” He said lightly.

She sighed as if she was truly put out and he chuckled. “Let me think about it. I’ll see if I can come up with a few ideas.”

“Sounds like a plan. Thank you, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She waved her hand noncommittally. “So, what are you working on now?”

Chapter Text

“You’re sure.” Vaun said. “You want me to go look for him?”

Kyosuke had fallen off the map again, it seemed. Giran had been trying to call him, finally got in touch. Kyosuke didn’t know exactly where he was, didn’t seem to be in danger, yet. But had asked very politely for a ride to stay with Giran for a while.

Kyosuke had asked specifically for Vaun.

“Yes, I know it’s not the best time, but…”

“I can’t leave Mara at home for an undetermined amount of time.” He said.

“I’d gladly watch her.”

“What if it takes me a week or longer, Giran?” Vaun asked, eyes hard. “Are you going to take her to and from school, make sure she eats proper meals, does her homework, gets sleep?”

“I wouldn’t offer to keep her if I wasn’t willing to make sure she survives, Vaun.”

Vaun chewed his cheek.

“Call her and ask her.” Giran invited.

“I already know she’ll be excited. That’s half the problem.”

“What, am I a bad influence, still?”

Vaun stared at him, deadpan. “That’s surprisingly not the concern I was having.”

Giran grimaced. “Then what is?”

“She might say something to you that–”

“She’s a kid, Vaun. I’ve talked with her enough that I already know she likes to push your buttons. Hell, that’s why we get along!”

“Not making this easy.” Vaun grumbled. “I’ll call her.”

Giran grinned.

The call went about as expected. Mara was already excited to pack her bags and come bunk at Giran’s new apartment. He even had a guest room. After Kyosuke arrived, that would be where he’d stay. She was just as excited to see him again, as well. Vaun had to admit that having Kyosuke around might be nice for her; she definitely looked up to him to a degree.

After hanging up, Vaun faced Giran and pointed right into his shit-eating grin. “No drinks. No cigarettes. No drugs.”

“What do you take me for?” Giran glowered.

Vaun’s unreadable expression didn’t crack. “I’m giving you an out for if she asks.”

Giran blinked at him before shrugging. Trying not to let on that he’d forgotten just how much trouble Mara could cause. Vaun knew, though. It was difficult to tell her no, even for him. But by God if he got home and Mara had sweet-talked Giran into letting her try illegal substances, he wanted it damn clear that Giran would be down an arm– and that he’d beat him to death with it.

If Giran truly understood that, maybe he’d have a chance in hell at standing his ground. Even if she brought out the puppy dog eyes.

Vaun didn’t like the change in routine, he found. He’d gotten used to things as they were. Pick his daughter up from school, figure out dinner, work on the car, talk to Giran and maybe do a job if needed, take Mara to school, pass the fuck out, start the cycle over.

Now he was a long ways away, practically on the opposite side of Japan. He didn’t even have a car. Just a room at a love hotel, a convenience store meal, and a vague idea of where to go the next day.

He’d eyed up the bar down the street, though. And Giran had given him an expense credit card. Nothing was stopping him from getting drunk off his gourd and reading up on some things for the kit car he’d like to buy. Maybe working on a few seashell charms if he wasn’t completely pissing drunk.

It was too late at night to call and talk to Mara, but Giran was awake. He said she ate enough for three people and was asleep already. More or less approved of Vaun’s plan of getting shitfaced. Asked for links to whatever gear or supplies he needed for the car when mentioned.

After he got off the phone, Vaun felt stifled by how quiet and empty everything was.

It was a plan, then, he surmised, as he left the room to drink until he passed out, on Giran’s tab, no less.

Mara couldn’t sleep. Her stomach burning all the way up her throat made sure of that.

The floors were cool under her bare feet. The grit stuck to them, and she wondered if Giran even owned a broom.

Carefully, she navigated the hallway, saw the glow of the office light, heard Giran talking on the phone. She didn’t mean to listen at first, but she was curious. Definitely beat listening to her own thoughts and staring sightlessly up at the ceiling in bed.

Some kind of future client, she figured, actually trying to listen now. From what she could hear of Giran’s end of the conversation, sounded lucrative, and not even that dangerous. She grinned, edging closer, wondering what else she could hear.

Giran hesitated mid-sentence, and then wrapped up the call rather quickly. He’d rotated his chair, she could tell. The change in volume told her he’d faced the door. And then he was off the phone. She heard the clink of crystal against a desk and then he cleared his throat. “Door’s open.” He said.

She grimaced. “How’d you know I was here?” She asked.

“Shadow on the floor.” He said. “Come on in, try out the chaise I got.”

She considered just going back to bed, but she knew she still wasn’t going to sleep, and at this point she might as well just sit with him. He’d offered, right?

“Sorry for listening in.” She said, feeling her way to the chaise. Velvet.

“It’s okay, but don’t make a habit of it.”

The silence sat for a while. She rubbed her knees, wondering if they were going to bruise from how hard she’d fallen to them earlier, throwing up in the guest bathroom. “Can’t sleep.” She said. “Didn’t want to call Dad and make him worry.”

“I talked to him not long ago. He’s doing okay, safe where he’s at.”

She nodded, tucking herself closer, hands still on her knees.

She could hear his uncertainty. She wished he’d just hurry up and ask whatever it was he was going to ask. She could take it.

“What’s bothering you?” He finally asked.

“It’s a bad night.” She answered.

“I’m… not sure what that means.”

She grimaced but didn’t elaborate.

He pulled out something from his desk. Slosh of liquid. A decanter, she guessed, but she couldn’t make out enough detail, just the blurs moving, the color of Giran’s ugly, loud shirt. But she knew the smell of whiskey.

“How about this: I’m gonna have a drink, and you can tell me whatever you want to, pro bono.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I won’t even charge you.”

She snickered. But then it faded. She hadn’t come in here to talk about anything, but maybe it was the silence. Maybe it was because it was Giran, and she trusted him because her dad trusted him. Her smile had slowly faded. “How much do you know?” She asked, voice small.

A sip. “About you?”

“Yeah.”

Giran apparently wasn’t sure what to say to that.

She understood, though. “I got Mom’s quirk.” She told him. “She died when I was seven. I probably won’t live half as long as she did.”

Giran didn’t respond for a while, and it wasn’t because he was drinking. “That’s a big, complicated feeling for someone as young as you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah.”

“How do you feel?”

Bluntly, she remarked, “Right now, I feel like shit.”

Audible surprise before a chuckle. “Do you talk like that anytime you’re away from your dad, or just on nights like tonight?”

“I don’t think dad could handle how I talk when he’s not around.” She said, the bitterness an old friend. Usually she only talked like this around Rena and Michelle. Something about talking to Giran was even easier. Because he knew Vaun. He knew death. Her friends didn’t understand, and she didn’t want them to.

“How do you mean?”

“He won’t even acknowledge that I’m dying. If he heard me joking about it with Michelle, he’d probably have a heart attack.”

The sound of more liquid pouring. It was just to give him time to think, she assumed.

She was right. “Well… that might be because it’s painful. Maybe he doesn’t want to scare you. Maybe he doesn’t want to admit it’s true. Maybe he finds peace in focusing on that you’re not dead yet.”

“Yeah, well, regardless, I’m still dying.” She huffed. “And the medicine makes my head hurt and my stomach gets all gross…”

“You feel like you can’t tell him anything.” Giran didn’t ask.

“I really can’t.” She said. “I know he’s trying, and I know he thinks that not talking about it is for the best for whatever reason, but that just means I have to keep biting my tongue anytime he’s around, because we have to play pretend like I’ll still be here in three years.”

His blur was rocked backward slightly. She could hear his chair protest. After another pause, he said, “From what I’ve read on the medication, it should keep you–”

“There’s no such thing as a guarantee. I’ve done my research, too.” She interrupted. “Best case scenario, I might be sixteen when I go. But that doesn’t mean I might not just die tomorrow on the fucking toilet.”

Giran searched the silence for some way to change the subject. He really was too much like Vaun for this, wasn’t he? “You researched it?”

She sighed, turned her head away. “Yeah. When he first brought it home, I started looking for information. Figured out what it does and how.” She made a face. “Saw how much it costs.”

Giran took a longer sip of his drink.

Mara continued, forcing herself to stop rubbing her knees, since it wasn’t making them less sore. “Yeah, I saw that, saw how much of it he was bringing home, and I knew whatever he was doing, it was nothing legal.”

“You doubt he could source it legally?”

“Look me in the eye and tell me with a straight face that he could.”

He sighed. “Well, you weren’t wrong.”

“Of course I wasn’t. I’m not stupid. I’d say I wasn’t blind but…” She shrugged.

The silence stretched again, broken by Giran lighting up a cigarette. “I’ve got a bet for you.”

“A bet?”

“Hear me out, okay. I’m not usually a betting man.” He said. “But you seem like you like a good challenge.”

“If I didn’t, I’d have thrown out the medicine and just died already.” She sighed. “What is it?”

“I think I already know the answer to this question, but I’ll ask anyway. If you could do anything, what would you do?”

She rolled her eyes again. “More bucket list shit, huh?” She vaguely saw him shrug and she thought about it. “I wanna go to college.”

“Thought so. If you did, what would you study?”

“Medicine.” She said, without hesitation.

“You had that ready to go, didn’t you? Can’t say I’m surprised. Every time I almost died, I would think a lot about what I wanted to do if I survived.”

She shrugged again.

“Well. Here’s the challenge, Mara. I’m going to put away a little extra money. Your dad won’t know about it, either. Money for you.”

“For what?”

“For college.” He said easily. “Because I bet you can make it.”

“What if I can’t?” She grumbled. “Not like I have a say in it.”

“I’m going to get some things for you, audio books of some textbooks, maybe. Things you can start on early, if you really want to. When the time comes, I’ll fully fund it. It’s money better used than whatever I’d spend it on otherwise.”

She sat there, staring at the ugly yellow-orange walls of his office. “Didn’t answer me.”

“It’s not about how long you live, kid. It’s about having a plan.” He said. “I can’t guarantee you time, but I can focus on what I can do for you.”

She felt a hiccup of emotion but couldn’t decide if it was laughter or a crying fit, so she choked it down.

“We have a bet, yeah?” He asked, tone gentle.

She sighed. “You’re a good man, Giran.”

“Nah. We both know better than that.”

She shook her head. “Here’s a bet for you, Giran: you can’t make me think otherwise.”

He chuckled. “Suppose that’s fair.”

The silence seemed less tense now. She felt herself start to relax into the chaise. Felt herself start to finally get as sleepy as she was tired. But as she turned her face back toward him, she felt… something.

“Giran?”

“Yes?” A puff of smoke.

“When I die…”

“I know.” He said. “I’ll take care of him for you.”

She swallowed, ignored the burning in her eyes, blinked it away. She nodded, looked back at the sunset hues of the wall. “Thanks.”

He poured himself more whiskey. “Don’t mention it.”

Chapter Text

Time passed. They’d moved to a new and better place, keeping her in the same general area so she could attend high school with her friends next year. And here they were, still working on the same car. It was much closer to being done, though.

They’d only been working on it for an entire year, after all. Well… about a year and a half. Mara bounced names for the car back and forth, but nothing had stuck yet. Specialized custom parts began to arrive, and Vaun hummed along to the playlist as he got everything set in place.

The day had come, at last, when they could take it for a test drive. As she threw herself down in the passenger seat, she took a deep breath and sighed. “Sure smells like a car. What’s it look like in here?”

Vaun sat down gingerly in the driver’s seat. “Well, Giran’s still looking for what I’ve asked, but I’ve got something. Here, give me your hand.”

He moved her hand to what was hanging from the mirror. It clinked as the pieces touched. He watched her expression as she tried to puzzle out what she was touching. “Seashells?” She said at last. “You carved some?” She moved her thumb over one piece. Her blunt fingernail slotted into a divot and her brow creased and then uncreased as recognition hit. “Is that the first one I carved?”

Before her quirk had manifested, Mara had snuck into his supplies and tried to carve one. It wasn’t the last one she made, but it was the first. Just a heart inside a scallop shell. Another one brushed the backs of her fingers and she managed to grab it after a moment. Her face reddened. “Dad.”

“It’s a good luck charm.” He said.

She made a face and pretended she didn’t want to cry. He chuckled.

She got better at them with practice. Vaun hadn’t discouraged her from making them, even showed her some of his techniques, back when he was hoping like hell she took after him more than her mother.

She crossed her arms and plopped back in the seat with a huff. “Well, then, it better keep you safe. Almost as tacky as Giran’s fuzzy dice.”

He chuckled again and cranked the engine.

A test drive doesn’t mean it’s finished, as he told Mara. Just because they could take it out to get groceries didn’t mean it was perfect. She’d joked that by time it was done she could use it to get her driver’s license. When he’d protested, she’d said it’d be fine, she’d just hang out of the window with her cane to see where she was going.

He couldn’t help but laugh.

They both knew the truth. He’d keep tinkering on it for as long as they both had fun sitting in that garage, talking aimlessly about school, cars, and music. And Vaun thought to himself every time he put a new task on the list that he was content with that being forever, or as close to forever as it could be.

“What do you want for Christmas?” Vaun asked.

“You can’t ask me that while we’re decorating for Halloween.” Mara grumbled. “There should be a law against that. Respect the spooky!” She shook black and orange tinsel at him.

He laughed. “You know it takes a while to ship things here.”

“Oh, I see. You want to throw around your new huge paycheck.” She taunted. “What next? Gonna start dressing and acting like a salaryman?”

Vaun adjusted his watch, over-exaggerating so she’d see it easier. In his thick, gritty ‘business voice,’ he uttered, “The train is late again.”

Mara cracked up. “Jesus, Dad. If you do that again, I’ll film it and send it to Giran.”

“Bold of you to think he’ll do anything more than laugh harder.” Vaun sighed, stapling the tinsel above the doorframe.

“You should dress as a salaryman for the Halloween party.” Mara said. “Maybe Giran can help you get fitted for a suit.”

Vaun sighed. “Sure, Mara.”

Mara, before Vaun could notice or protest, had grabbed his phone off the table, and was dialing Giran.

“Look, Giran, this is not necessary. I do not need a new suit.”

“Oh, no, I’m fairly certain you could use a new one.” Giran grinned. “As could I. But I thought we could go for something so disgustingly gaudy that even Mara would see and regret looking at it.”

Vaun stared at the tailor’s door, looked at his hands, and sighed. “I can’t very well argue with that logic.”

“Dad! I found a new recipe at school for the party!” She got into the car and then did a double-take at him. “Oh my god.”

The yellow ochre paisley-patterned suit made even him a little nauseous if he looked at it too long.

She stared in abject horror at him. “I should have called anyone but Giran.”

“Yes.” Vaun said smugly. “Wave to your friends, sweetheart. They’re staring too.”

“Nooo!”

“Dad, I need help.”

“I’ll get my gun.”

“Ha. So funny.”

Vaun had legitimately reached for it, but she didn’t have to know that.

She cleared her throat. “I need to practice for choir. I’m having trouble keeping up with the others because I can’t see the sheet music.”

Vaun stared at her briefly. “I hate to tell you, sweetheart… I don’t know how to read sheet music.”

“I don’t need you to. You can find things online telling you how to play it, right?”

“I sold my bass before we moved…”

She rolled her eyes. “I can’t sing along with a bass very well, can you imagine?”

He cocked an eyebrow, waiting for her to explain how this would work.

“He should be here any moment, now.” She said, cryptically.

It took five full minutes for Giran to arrive, Kyosuke in tow. “It’s the best I could scrape up on short notice…” Giran said sheepishly.

Kyosuke’s expression spoke otherwise, even if Vaun hadn’t clocked Giran’s lie immediately.

It occurred to Vaun as he took the offered parcel that this was very clearly supposed to be a Christmas present. Opening the case, finding an acoustic guitar, he couldn’t help but chuckle. “You seriously overestimate my ability, both of you.” He took it and sat in the middle of the sofa. Strummed each string to check the tune.

“You were in a band, though.” Giran said, following.

“I played electric bass. They have strings in common.” Vaun said lightly. “And I’m a decade rusty at that.”

Kyosuke hesitantly navigated around the armchair and leaned to offer something.

“Ah, a pick, lovely.” Vaun muttered idly, taking it and immediately putting it between his teeth as he looked at the fretboard more closely. There were seashell inlays.

He looked up at Giran, spoke around the pick. “Scrape up, eh?”

Giran managed not to sputter, but his face did turn an adorable shade. It would be their little secret, the shared glance said. Vaun was the only one who’d see it. That was probably the more mortifying option, unless Giran was more afraid of being heckled by a teenager.

Considering the way Kyosuke was shaking his head, though, Vaun was more and more confident that Giran was just fucked regardless. But at least Vaun could promise his own silence. After all, as endearing as blushing was, it obviously meant nothing. Giran just didn’t have many close friends, and wasn’t accustomed to gift giving.

It was a well-thought-out gift, he’d admit. Even if it was a bit out of Vaun’s comfort zone.

He lightly chewed the tip of the pick. Wondered how many years since he last held a guitar. Realized it’d been such a long time just since he last performed for anyone.

What the hell could he remember to play? He tried to think, but most of his experience was the admittedly simple bass lines from the band’s original songs. His heart was starting to climb up his throat a bit.

He started with a couple scales, hoping a song would come to him. Decided to just wing it until something came, and ended up playing something his mother had listened to, or at least what he could remember of it.

When he looked up, Mara seemed starry eyed. His smile cracked immediately. Kyosuke hummed in thought. “Eagles. Explains why I’ve had that song stuck in my head for the last month.”

Giran had sat down on the arm of the couch, back to him. From what Vaun could see, looking up, his face was still red. He chuckled again. “I’m not good at this, don’t get too excited.”

“Recognizable tune.” Kyosuke pointed out. “Give yourself more credit.”

Giran grunted in agreement.

Vaun put the pick back in his mouth to avoid answering or acknowledging the praise. Attempted finger-picking rather clumsily. An uphill battle, he mused, grabbing the pick back and sighing. “I’ll refamiliarize myself, sweetheart. Then I’ll find the tabs and learn what you need. Okay?”

She grinned wider than he’d seen in months. “Thanks, Dad.”

Giran reached over and ruffled Vaun’s hair. He hadn’t greased it back yet today, and Vaun growled deep in his throat. Giran snatched his hand back as if Vaun had gnashed his teeth, foaming at the mouth. The blush had reached down his neck. Maybe he was drunk.

Dear God, a drink sounds perfect right now.

“One holiday after another, chrissake.” Vaun grumbled, trading black and orange tinsel for silver.

“That’s kinda how time works.” Mara said, her new, intensely thick glasses warping the appearance of her eyes as she dug through the plastic tote at the foot of his ladder.

“You never did tell me what you wanted for Christmas.” He pointed out.

She shrugged. “Not much I can think of.”

“Must be something.”

“Maybe my own guitar. You can teach me, since you’re a musical genius.”

“If anyone who played guitar for more than two months heard you call me that, they’d kill me on sight.”

“Well, sucks for all of you. All I have is my opinion, and that’s the only one that matters on the subject as far as I’m concerned.”

He sighed, and shook his head. “If you’d answered me a couple months ago, I could have had one custom made.”

“I don’t care about that.” She said. “I’m not gonna be able to see it after a while, don’t need it to be pretty.” She took a wreath out and set it on the ground next to the hem of her skirt, pushed up her glasses and peered up at him. “You used to tell me stories, remember? About your first bass?”

“You were so young, I didn’t realize you remembered.”

“You said it was the ugliest banana-yellow thing you’d ever seen.” She went on.

“It was twenty quid.” He chuckled. “Worked decent, I suppose. Just hideous and scraped to shit. Perfect for a shitty ska band.”

She giggled. Rooted around in the tote, pretending to search for something. “I guess I’d like an experience like that. Y’know?”

He smiled and glanced down at her. Let the Halloween tinsel fall behind her. “Sounds like a fun day.”

“I guess that’s one thing that’s nice about Christmas here, more shops being open.” She muttered, grabbing the discarded tinsel and putting it in the Halloween tote on her other side.

“You don’t like how they celebrate here?”

“You can hardly call it celebrating. It’s all date night this and fried chicken that. C’mon, Dad, who convinced them fried chicken was traditional?”

Vaun chuckled. “I take it your friends don’t understand?”

She groaned. “They’re trying to, but no matter how much I explain it, they just say it sounds so strange. I feel like an alien.” She pouted. “If anything, I feel sorry for them. Waking up and tripping over yourself sprinting to a fake tree covered in glass balls and an electrical fire hazard rope so you can unwrap gifts left by the spirit of a dismembered catholic saint on steroids...” She sighed dreamily.

“What are you talking about?”

“Saint Nicolas resurrected children in a pickling barrel, dad.” She said, as if he should know.

“While I have the ladder out, I’m checking the carbon monoxide detectors.” He shook his head.

Mara squealed as she got into the car. “I got the part, Dad! I got it!”

“Oh?”

“I’m in the musical, it’s gonna count toward my final exam!”

Vaun stared at her. “Is that what the song was for?”

“What? No. That was for the choir. But! It was helpful for trying out for the musical. And I got the part!”

“What part? What musical?”

“I don’t know yet.” She said. “I couldn’t read the list, but Michelle and Rena are on it and they saw my name, too.”

As if summoned, Rena and Michelle came to the passenger window. When they tapped the glass, Mara jumped before rolling the window down. “We should do something together to celebrate.” Rena said.

Vaun thought for a moment. “Are your parents picking you up?”

“I walk home.” Rena said.

“I was going to walk with her today, so Mom went grocery shopping instead.” Michelle said.

“How about I call both of your parents, then. I think I’ve got some ideas. Go on and get in the car.”

“This isn’t the car you were telling us about, is it?” Michelle asked as she climbed in.

“No…” Mara said.

Vaun rubbed the back of his neck and put his phone in the console, already dialing. “Suppose we can stop by the house and grab it. Should be put together enough for a drive, just so long as no one gets food or drink everywhere.”

The look of excitement on the girls’ faces made Vaun wonder just how much Mara talked about the car. Had to be a significant amount.

It made him smile.

Vaun was now chaperoning Mara and her friends about town. First was ice cream and an early dinner. Then Mara asked if they could stop at a specific little clothing shop, where Vaun waited outside, smoking, while the girls helped Michelle shop for her very first girly bathing suit. Rena and Mara found something too, and Mara used the card Vaun had handed her: Giran’s expense card. He’d pay him back later.

Vaun went back to the shop near the beach that had sold him the surfboards, girls in tow. The same androgynous kid was behind the desk, and asked if the boards were still seeing use, smiling at the kids as if they were trying to figure out which one was dying.

Vaun bought the beach towels and watched the girls immediately sprint to change into their new suits. Vaun spread out three of the towels and sat down on one, lay the remaining three next to him, still folded. The girls came out, giggling, before tearing toward the water.

Vaun wasn’t used to seeing children act like children anymore, he mused. Not like back home in England, at least. Japan was full of reservations, of projecting order and organization. He wondered how they felt. Did they feel free? They felt safe around her, that much was apparent. He wondered how much effect Mara really had on these girls. 

He wondered how long they’d carry her with them when she was no longer here.

“Vaun, if you don’t answer this phone right now, I’m going to shit in your glovebox.” His phone intoned. Vaun smirked and fished in his pocket. Mara was right: custom ringtones were worth shoving a microphone into people’s face.

“Yes, Giran?”

“Wanna explain why I have a charge at a girls’ boutique for… 50 thousand yen?”

“Huh. Figured they’d go higher than that.”

“Who has my card, Vaun?”

“Me, at the moment.” Vaun answered, watching Rena pop up to the surface after Mara tried to suplex her in the deeper water. He chuckled.

Giran was silent. One of the girls squealed with laughter, thrashing around in the waves.

“Don’t suppose you have time tonight, do you?” Giran asked at last. “When things… calm down?”

“I’ll let you know when we’re home. And I’ll pay you back for the outing.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll put it on her tab.” Vaun could hear the smile in Giran’s voice.

“It’s unseasonably warm this year…” Vaun mused. “Good to enjoy it while it lasts.”

Giran hummed. “While it lasts, yeah.” He sighed. “Tell her I said hi, then. I’ll see you later tonight, this needs to be done before dawn.”

“Got it.” Vaun said, and they both hung up.

On the way to take the girls home, they talked about how cool the car looked, about how Michelle’s mom was going to help make costumes for the musical and that Mara should come home with her the next day so she could get measurements. Mara was fast asleep on the way back home.

He carried her to bed, tucked her in. Changed clothes before heading out to meet Giran.

He started the old car, then felt a tap at his earring.

“Drive safe, Dad.” She said quietly. “Love you.”

Vaun gripped the steering wheel for a moment before tapping back. “Love you too, sweetheart. Sleep well.”

Chapter Text

It seemed that every year thus far, the closer it got to the holidays, the more work there was to do. Perhaps Vaun was biased, though.

Ever since Mara had gotten the part, she’d stay after school to practice, or go home with Michelle or Rena to practice even more. He’d procured the tablature for the songs and learned them, but school had given the girls CDs with the songs already on them to help them.

Mara coming home late meant Vaun had more time to sleep, especially on days when Michelle’s mom would bring her home. Just because he had time to sleep, however, didn’t mean he got sleep. He’d wake up with a start about twenty minutes after he’d normally have left to pick her up.

Giran laughed at his “old man instincts” and Vaun had just glowered and wished parenthood on him, jokingly. Which led to Giran making jokes about the flat sarcasm of British humor.

Within a week, he’d casually called him Mr. Bean in front of Mara, who had laughed so hard he thought she’d throw up. He knew his life was over at that moment.

“That’s not even the kind of humor we were talking about.” He’d protested, but his fate was sealed. Giran changed his ringtone for Vaun’s call to the jaunty saxophone music, even.

His phone was playing a sound that shouldn’t have made his gut churn the way it was. He hurriedly took his blood-soaked gloves off before fishing in his pocket for his phone, still emanating a calm and sweet song Mara had picked out with him.

“Rena, yes?”

“Mr. Divers…”

“Did she get sick? Do I need to come get her?”

“She asked me not to bother you, but she’s not well.” Rena said. “I promised her I wouldn’t say anything.”

“I’ll be there in…” He looked at the floor, the man still wriggling in a puddle. “Hahh, I’m… not sure.”

“You don’t have to come here.” She rushed to say. “I just… wanted to ask what I can do. For her.”

He stopped. “Give me just a moment, and we’ll see what’s going on, okay? One moment.” He muted the phone and stared at it, making sure it was muted. He took the gun from his waistband and sighed. “Sorry, chap, thought we’d have more time for fun. Thank you for your patience, you've been a very good boy.”

The gagged man looked relieved. Word had spread, and as soon as someone saw Vaun’s ugly hat, the expectations were high. Not to mention Vaun had been working on him for the better part of an hour. Hearing his phone go off made his pulse escalate more than any of the night’s exertion thus far.

He waited until he was absolutely sure nothing would come across in the background or his voice, and then he unmuted. “You still there, Rena?”

“Yeah, she’s been in the bathroom for a long time, Mr. Divers.”

“Do you have any of those cold compresses? Like the kind you put on your forehead when you’re sick?”

“Yes.”

“If you can dim the lights in your room, that might also help. She probably doesn't want too much attention, right now, so if you want to put on a movie and watch it in the dark with her, that should probably be good. Don’t be afraid to be stern with her, if she’s still trying to practice or anything, tell her to rest her voice if she’s gotten sick. Cold water is also a good idea.” He trailed off.

“Cold compress. Dim the lights. Something low-effort. No more practicing. Hydrate. Got it.” She said. “She’s gonna be back at any moment. Thank you, Mr. Divers.”

“Feel free to call me if anything gets worse, okay?” He said. “You’re a good friend to her.”

“I love her.” She said firmly. “She and Michelle are my best friends. We’d do anything for each other.”

“I understand.”

“Mr. Divers…” Rena asked. “Is her medicine helping her?”

Vaun’s fingers pressed a little too tightly to the sides of the phone. “I hope it is.” He said.

“I’m sorry.” She said. “She just… seems to be feeling worse lately. Maybe it’s the stress of school and practice. Maybe she’s not sleeping enough.” Vaun didn’t want to think about that this child was reassuring him. “It can’t be helped, I’ll make sure she gets good sleep tonight.”

“Thank you, Rena.”

“Dad asked if you wanted to come to lunch tomorrow when you pick her up. If you can’t make it, that’s okay. Mara says you’re very busy, so is Dad, so we’ll understand.”

“Sounds like a lovely time, actually. Thank you again for calling, Rena.”

“Thank you for answering. Sorry for interrupting your night.”

“Not a problem, just…” He nudged the corpse with his toe, “working on the car again.”

“You should get some sleep too.” She said. “Ah, Mara’s coming. Bye!”

Vaun put the phone back in his pocket and fished for his gloves again. To the corpse he spoke, “Well, I suppose that’s the end of our appointment. I’ll be your chauffeur for the night.” He crouched down with a grunt, knees creaking. “Right this way, sir.” He said, hoisting the body upright.

“Dad, you smell like peroxide. Were you doing laundry, or are you hurt?”

“Laundry.” He said. “Peroxide is less offensive than cologne, though, isn’t it?”

Mara put her seatbelt on. “I guess so.”

“No practice today, then?”

“Not feeling up for it. Just kinda want to eat and sleep.”

“Depressed?” He guessed.

“Maybe a little overwhelmed.” She said, and Vaun pegged it as deflection, but didn't press. “It’s so loud when we’re all singing, too. My teacher’s been great, though. Patient with me.”

“That’s good.”

“Are you coming to opening night?” She asked. “I know… you’ve been tired a lot, too, lately.”

“I’ve told Giran that whatever needed to be taken care of will be taken care of early. I’ll be there. All three nights.”

She smiled. “Wanna help me practice a couple songs before bed?”

“I think we can do that, if you’re up to it. Have you been drinking enough water? Need to take care of your voice.”

“Try to get me to drink something other than soda, I dare you.” She said. “Hate drinking plain water.”

She tuned him out the entire way home as he talked about how much better for her water was. He could tell by her smile that she wasn’t too irritated by it.

In reality, she couldn’t mind because it felt like home.

Mara’s new guitar was, indeed, hideous. Hot-rod red and chipped up, with tacky stickers on it and burn marks. Vaun wasn’t sure if those were from cigarettes or… well, whoever used this wasn’t seeing pyrotechnics, so that was probably it.

She loved it, though.

Vaun had called a week ahead of time to all the local pawn shops to see who’d be open. One owner was very warm and inviting, said he’d come in just to sell them a guitar. After all, he was specifically looking for something ugly– a perfect way to move product that wouldn’t sell otherwise. Mara had melted the guy’s heart further, with how excited she was at the whole situation.

“Now I just need an ugly tattoo, and I’m ready to join a band.”

“Trust me, the tattoo isn’t required.” Vaun said.

“Don’t you have a tattoo?” She asked.

“Your mother and I got matching ones after our first set of rings got stolen.” He said.

“What did you get?”

“White roses.” He said. “It’s… on my back, left shoulder blade. Hers was on her wrist.”

“Oh. I think I remember that, now that you say it.” She said.

Vaun smiled. “If you got a tattoo, what would you want to get?”

“Hmm. Maybe something that reminds me of both of you. I know mom’s name means chrysanthemum, but I’m not sure what flower you’d be.”

“Sticking to flowers?”

“Could be a family thing, y’know?” She played with the hem of the guitar strap. It was hot pink, didn’t match anything at all. Just one eyesore connected to another.

“Hm. And what flower would you be?”

“Orchids are so pretty. But so are tiger lilies.” She said. “I think I like orchids because they look so alien. There are so many kinds, and they’re in all kinds of colors. Pretty much any weird flower is an orchid, isn’t it?”

“What about tiger lilies? Why those specifically?”

“They have that weird alien patterning to them. They can be so pretty, but I like the shape of a lot of lilies, like. Calla lilies? Simple but pretty.”

Lilies are a sign of death. He didn’t say. Instead, he said, “If you pick a flower, I’ll get it tattooed next to the rose. You can come with and watch. How’s that?”

“Oooh, okay. Right after I pick a name for the car, right?”

He laughed.

When they got home, he shot Giran a text for whenever he dragged himself out of bed. Focused on getting breakfast handled while Mara went through the scales she’d already practiced on Vaun’s guitar.

“It sounds so much different.” She said.

“Well, it’s built much different.”

“Can I get an amp for it? It has a port, right?”

“Yeah, it’s built for both. So it’s newer, just mass-produced and not very well taken care of.”

“Is it possible to fix it?” She asked. “Don’t get me wrong, I love it as-is. Just curious.”

“Not sure. I think most of its issues are not really repairable. Manufacturer issues, for instance. Cheap wood, moisture causing warp, maybe. These are things that we wouldn’t be able to fix, and even a professional might not be able to. Do you know what Theseus’ Ship is?”

She didn’t answer, sitting there, running her hand up and down the strings, a strange look on her face. “So it’s like me.” She said quietly. “It’ll just get worse over time.”

Vaun couldn’t put words to the feelings he had, just knew they were too loud, and were like a swallowed stone. Choking him, heavy in his throat.

Before he was forced to respond, though, there was a knock at the door.

“It’s unlocked!” He called, and the door flew open.

Mara cackling was his first warning, but it didn’t prepare him for turning around to see Giran in a Santa hat and fake beard. He’d found a way to make a red suit look even more horrid somehow, with some truly offensive matching dress shoes. Everyone in a seven mile radius must have seen him at any given point in time. He hadn’t bothered shoving his hair into his hat, either, so the white fake beard clashed with his blond-ish waves.

When Giran struggled at the door with an honest-to-god sack, Vaun put his head in his hands.

“It’s not as much as it looks, I promise.” Giran panted, walking into the kitchen and setting it down. His hat fell off, and he didn’t seem to notice.

“I swear to god, if you have pickle jars in there.” Vaun grumbled at him. “She’s been on and on about Santa Claus and pickled children.”

Giran blinked at him in confusion.

Vaun sighed in relief.

“Dad, get the milk and cookies!”

“No thanks, I’m lactose intolerant.” Giran said.

“Cookies!” Mara insisted.

“You ate them all last night.” Vaun reminded.

She groaned. “They were so good, I couldn’t help it.”

“It’s the thought that counts.” Giran said.

“Dad, can we make more cookies so you can bring them to him later?”

Vaun sighed. “I suppose we can find the time for that.”

Giran had gone to his knees on the floor, began rifling around in the bag. “I won’t take too long, don’t worry about it. Got other stops, y’know. Official Santa business.”

Mara rolled her eyes. “If you were a true Santa, you’d work nights.”

Vaun hitched a brow. “We both work nights.”

“Right. You’re like. Un-Santas.” She said.

Giran shrugged. “Actually, half of my job is giving people presents they ask me for.”

“For a price.” Vaun added.

“For a price.” Giran nodded, sagely. He looked ridiculous and Vaun hid his smile behind a glass.

“I guess that makes Dad an elf.”

Giran cracked up, and under his breath he said, “A blood elf, maybe.”

“What’s that?” Vaun asked.

“I didn’t say anything.” He said hurriedly, burying himself further in the sack. He came out holding a stack of books. Thick, heavy ones. “Mara?”

“Ooooh, what are these?”

“I got you some books. They’re college level.” He winked. “And– since I know you have more things to do than just squint at tiny print, I made this:” He reached into the bag again and pulled out a box. “All of them are on this thumb-drive as audio books. You can plug it right into your computer and listen to them on headphones.”

“Wow, okay.”

“If there’s any other books you’d like, message me and I’ll email the files. They’re easy enough for me to get. Maybe five minutes of work. I don’t mind. I know you like to read.”

“Mara, would you like to grab what you picked out?” Vaun asked.

She skipped over to the tree and grabbed the box. Giran took it hesitantly. Suspiciously, even.

Inside was the ugliest scarf he'd ever seen in his life. “Cats.” He noted. Cartoony calicos, some facing toward the viewer, most of them facing away with little x's for buttholes. Anything not cats was lavender.

“It made me think of you.” She said. “Dad pointed it out and I knew.”

Giran had no idea what to think of that. “It is cold out.” He mused, struggling to put it on with the fake beard in the way. Took it off momentarily to get it to sit right. It clashed so horribly with the violently crimson suit. “It's very soft, actually.” He touched it again, feeling his face heat.

“Told you, Dad. He recognizes quality.” She sassed.

Giran tried to hide his face more in the scarf and excused himself to his car for a moment, returning with an even bigger smile and a bucket of fried chicken. Vaun couldn’t help but laugh as Mara’s face fell.

“Nevermind.” She grumbled.

Giran shot Vaun a wink as he handed it over. They’d talked about Mara’s thoughts on Japanese Christmas over a month ago, and Giran had decided that he could change her mind. That both could be fun.

“It means I don’t have too cook.” Vaun reminded her. “Which gives us more time to do whatever we want, today.”

She grumbled in reluctant agreement and approached the bucket, fishing for a leg. “Still not traditional. But we’re not even Christians, so what’s it matter?”

Giran chuckled. “There’s that famous Mara logic.”

She eyed him, squinting despite her glasses. “The bag?”

He jolted. “Right.”

“What about it?” Vaun asked warily.

Giran was already elbows deep in it again.

“Mara?”

“Well! I couldn’t have you pick out your own present from me!” She crowed indignantly.

“You’ve been talking to each other behind my back.”

“Yes, but I gave her the good client discount.” Giran joked.

He sighed in defeat. “Fine. This isn’t over, though.”

“Never is with you.” Giran muttered.

Mara nearly choked.

Giran pulled out a knife. Not at all dissimilar to the one Mara had used to kill a man nearly two years prior. They’d never retrieved it. Giran handed it to Vaun, who took it in hand. Several emotions announced their presence, but none of them were easily sorted. It felt heavy in his hand, and he looked at the inscription on the hilt.

I pray you never have to use it.

“Giran got one custom made.” Mara explained. “I asked if I should puke on it so it’d be poisonous, but he said that wasn’t necessary.”

“Deploy the blade, Vaun.” Giran prompted, face still mostly encompassed by the hideously adorable scarf.

He did, unsure what he was feeling.

Giran went on. “Undetectable by metal detectors, just as stowable as any of these kind. But she gave me some ideas on what you might like. Stylistically, that is.”

The blade was mottled with swirls of color. A dark blue into violet at the tip, golden fluid lines. Like oil and water refusing to mix.

“A hero needs an iconic weapon.” Mara said.

He felt that twinge again. “I’m no hero, Mara.” He said softly.

She stepped forward and hugged him hard. “You are to me. That’s all that matters.”

He stared at the inscription and wondered how she could say that. But… he couldn’t bring himself to argue, not when it felt like he was trying to swallow a pinecone. Instead he rescinded the blade, and held her back.

Giran watched smugly, which was even more insulting with a cartoon cat anus right next to his jaw. Vaun mouthed for him to fuck off. Giran just made himself even more smug, posing against the counter and grinning so hard his gums were visible.

Vaun squeezed Mara back and she took that as a sign the hug was over, moved back and looked at Giran. “Thanks for the help.”

He waved it off, all business again. “Don’t mention it. Got one more, though.”

“What?” Vaun asked. Mara jumped up and down.

Instead of digging in the bag, Giran reached into his ugly red suit jacket. Pulled out two tickets.

“I promised.” He said. “I try not to break those, you know.” He handed them to Vaun.

“Mexico.” Vaun noted.

Mara squealed.

“I set the date for when things will be a little quieter for everyone. Wanted you both to be able to relax a little.”

“What about you?” Mara asked.

“I–”

“He has a business to run, sweetheart.” Vaun reminded her.

“Bullshit!” She said, pouting.

“Language.” Vaun chided.

“You first.” She shot back. “It is, though! He was there the first time, he should be there with us this time too.”

“Mara…” Vaun said tightly, unsure how to proceed.

Giran shrugged. “I mostly thought the two of you could use a break, as a family. Going on holiday with your boss doesn’t sound very relaxing.”

Her pout intensified.

“But.” Giran sighed. “I suppose it can’t be helped. Who else is gonna order food for you?”

She cheered victoriously, elbowing Vaun hard enough in the stomach to make him grunt.

Giran gathered the empty sack and headed for the door. “I’ll have to get another ticket sorted.” He said. “Happy Christmas.”

“Drive safe.” Vaun replied.

Mara ran up to him, tackling him by his side and crashing him against the wall. She squeezed him tight enough that he struggled to breathe. “Easy, kid.” He said softly.

“It’s still a family trip.” She whispered. “You’re family, you know.”

Giran froze, staring down at the top of her head. His eyes darted to Vaun, but Vaun was grabbing plates so they could eat after Giran left.

“You think so?”

“What I say goes, and I say you are.” Mara said. “You’re family.”

Giran confusedly returned the hug, caught Vaun eyeing him with a significant amount of amusement, and Giran tried to give him an appropriately scathing glare. Difficult to, with his eyes so weirdly hot and wet.

“Let him go, Mara, you’re gonna break him in half, then I’ll have to run the organization myself.” Vaun joked.

“You wish.” Giran said, but Mara let him go. He felt… odd. It wasn’t until he was outside that he wondered when the last time he had been hugged was. The last time he’d been considered family, at that.

It wasn’t until he was in the car that he realized he was missing something.

And it wasn’t until he barged back into the house to get it that he saw Mara waiting just inside, wearing the Santa beard with a shit-eating grin.

The only thing more terrifying than recognizing Vaun as he broke into your house or place of work was not recognizing him.

He was wearing clothes he didn’t care to throw away, because he didn’t have time to worry about laundry prep. No hat, no coat. Just a man in ragged sweatpants and plain t-shirt with an aluminum bat and a gun, disguised as a delivery driver until he was beyond the view of neighbors.

He didn’t have time to make as much of an example as he’d normally make. Most of the social crucifixion for this person was done digitally, anyway. Giran had handled that, with Vaun rushing in to make sure the target wouldn’t evade the repercussions.

He hadn’t counted on more than one person being there.

What was supposed to be an easy one-and-done issue turned into staging an implosion, which took a lot more time than just killing some people, even if he was quick.

To make matters worse, he might have gotten carried away. He asked Giran to send in someone for pickup and cleanup, and Giran said someone was already on the way. Vaun sat on his tarp-covered seat and drove like he stole it, swinging by a safehouse where he would trade the decoy car for his own, get a shower and get changed as quickly as he could without missing any bloody areas. He’d have to hide a limp, but he was more concerned with what was going to be a nasty bruise on his ribs.

At least no bullets, no open wounds. Nothing he couldn’t hide.

It was much more satisfying to accelerate his own car. Not too far from the school. He had time, didn’t he? He checked at a light. Cursed under his breath.

To make matters worse, the doors were closed when he got there. It wasn’t until he noticed a now-familiar scarf tucked into a dark plum suit jacket that he sighed in a mix of frustration and relief. Giran was standing at the door, talking to a teacher.

“Ah, here he is!” Giran shouted. “I already got our tickets. Kind lady was just reminding me I couldn’t smoke this close to the building.

“Who is… this?” She asked.

“I’m Mara Divers’ father.” Vaun answered.

“No, not you, we all know who you are.” She said.

“Oh.” Vaun blinked and thought fast. “This is my younger half-brother, Shuu. He came from out of town for the holidays and hasn’t left yet.”

She nodded sagely. They were allowed to enter.

“Brother, huh? What resemblance is there?” Giran muttered from the side of his mouth.

“I’m sure you weren’t paying attention but from how she looked at my suit, I think she believed it on that alone.”

“Are you saying I’m dressed like I just stumbled out of a closet in an underfunded, backwoods theater set?”

“How highly specific. Didn’t know that was your morning ritual.”

“You’re fired.” Giran laughed.

“Didn’t miss anything yet, right?”

“Haven’t heard any music, so apparently not. I bought the seats an hour and a half ago, just so you know.”

“Was that why it sounded like you were dying in a bathroom when you took my call?”

“Couldn’t help it that someone was having their worst night in the next stall.” Giran shrugged.

“Mara, your dad showed up!” Rena called.

“Oh, thank god.” She said in English.

“He’s got someone with him.” Michelle added, peeking around the curtain with Rena.

The teacher, overlooking the students now that the door to the assembly was locked, spoke up. “Your uncle.”

“What? Thought he was dead.” She said, before she could help herself. This was the English teacher, she realized too late. “Oh, that uncle!”

The English teacher-- who had just spent the last thirty minutes lecturing Giran that it didn’t matter that there were no children outside, he couldn’t smoke-- nearly remarked that she was surprised he wasn’t dead, either. Mara’s father must be a saint.