Chapter Text
Lila wakes up on the cold tile of the motel bathroom floor, her cheek pressed against the grimy linoleum, her body curled around the base of the toilet like she'd been praying to it all night. Her mouth tastes like whiskey and regret, her head pounds like someone's taking a sledgehammer to her skull, and she can't remember how the hell she got here.
She sits up slowly, groaning as every muscle in her body protests. Fragments of the night before flicker through her mind like broken glass—the bar, shots of whiskey, some asshole who wouldn't take no for an answer. And then... Ray and Beau. The threat against Marie. The gun kicking in her hand as she put a bullet in Ray's arm.
She remembers that part crystal clear, even through the whiskey haze. The brothers, woged and snarling. Police sirens. Running in opposite directions. The rest is fuzzy, but shooting Ray? That she remembers with perfect, terrifying clarity.
The phone starts ringing in the other room, shrill and insistent. Lila drags herself to her feet, using the sink for support, and stumbles toward the sound. Her reflection in the mirror stops her cold—pale, hollow-eyed, looking like she'd been hit by a truck and left for dead.
She grabs the phone on the fifth ring, her voice coming out as a croak. "Yeah?"
"Lila? It's Nick. Nick Burkhardt." His voice is tight with excitement and relief. "She's awake. Marie's awake. She's asking for you."
⚘ ❀ ⚘ ❀ ⚘ ❀ ⚘ ❀ ⚘
Lila makes it to the hospital in record time, her hair still damp from the world's quickest shower, wearing yesterday's jeans and a wrinkled t-shirt she'd grabbed from her bag. She's moving on pure adrenaline and the desperate need to see Marie alive and conscious.
But when she reaches the third floor, she stops short. Two uniformed police officers flank Marie's door, and a third sits at a makeshift desk nearby, checking IDs and making notes. This is new.
"I'm here to see Marie Kessler," Lila tells the officer at the desk, pulling out her driver's license.
He studies it carefully, then checks her name against a list. "You're on the approved visitor list. But I need to let you know—there was another attempt on Ms. Kessler's life early this morning. Security's been doubled."
Lila's blood turns cold. "Is she okay?"
"She's fine. Awake and alert. But we're not taking any chances."
The officer waves her through, and Lila pushes open the door to find Marie sitting up in bed, looking pale but very much alive. Nick stands beside her, still wearing yesterday's clothes and looking like he hasn't slept.
Marie's face lights up when she sees Lila. "There you are," she says, her voice hoarse but warm. "Nick, stop hovering. She's not going to break."
Lila doesn't wait for permission. She crosses the room in three quick strides and wraps her arms around Marie, careful of the tubes and wires but holding her tight enough to confirm she's really there, really breathing, really awake.
"I thought I'd lost you," Lila whispers against Marie's shoulder.
"I'm tougher than I look," Marie says softly, patting Lila's back. "Though apparently not tough enough to avoid Reapers."
Nick clears his throat awkwardly. "I hate to break this up, but I need to get back to work. Captain's already wondering where I've been." He looks between them, clearly sensing there's more to their relationship than he understands. "I'll check in later, okay?"
"Go," Marie says, waving him toward the door. "And Nick? Thank you. For everything."
He nods and leaves, closing the door quietly behind him. As soon as they're alone, Lila pulls back to study Marie's face.
"Is he?" she asks simply.
Marie's eyes crinkle at the corners. "Yes. But he needs to figure it out himself. Don't interfere, Lila. Let him come to it naturally."
Lila nods, understanding. Every Grimm's awakening is different, and forced revelations rarely end well. "I'll respect that. Besides, I won't be in Portland much longer anyway."
"Oh?"
"I need to get to Seattle."
"Of course you do," Marie says with a knowing smile. "Always something pulling you to the next city, the next hunt." She shifts in the hospital bed, making herself more comfortable. "It's been too long since we caught up properly. A year? More?"
"Thirteen months," Lila says, settling into the chair beside the bed. "Since that Wendigo case in Montana."
They fall into the familiar rhythm of shared stories—Marie catching her up on the cancer diagnosis, the experimental treatments, her decision to check on Nick. Lila shares her own tales from the road, the hunts that went smoothly, the ones that didn't, the long nights in anonymous motels wondering if she was following in Marie's footsteps or carving her own path.
It's comfortable, this exchange of information and affection, two women who understand each other in ways the rest of the world never could. But underneath the surface pleasantries, Lila can see Marie studying her, reading the signs of exhaustion and something else—a kind of emotional damage that hasn't been there before.
"You look tired," Marie says finally. "More than just road-tired. What happened, Lila?"
And then it all comes pouring out. New Orleans, the hunt for the Lejeune brothers, Cal's death in the alley. The way she'd fallen for Ray and Beau, how she'd let them mark her, how she'd broken every rule Marie had ever taught her. Tommy's betrayal, the revelation that he was the real killer, the way everything had fallen apart when the truth came out.
Lila tells Marie about the chase, about Ray letting her go, about the phone calls and threats. She even admits to shooting Ray outside the Portland bar, though she leaves out most of the details about exactly how drunk she'd been.
Marie listens without interruption, her expression growing more serious with each revelation. When Lila finally finishes, the hospital room feels heavy with silence.
"Jesus, Lila," Marie says quietly. "You really did step in it this time."
"I know." Lila slumps in her chair, suddenly feeling the weight of everything she's been carrying. "I fucked up. I let my emotions get in the way of the job, and now innocent women are dead because I was chasing the wrong monsters."
"Were they innocent?" Marie asks, her voice carefully neutral. "The brothers?"
Lila hesitates. "I don't know. That's the hell of it—I still don't know for sure."
Marie is quiet for a long moment, studying Lila's face with those sharp eyes that miss nothing. "Then you need to deal with it," she says finally. "Whatever the truth is, you need to find it and handle it. Running won't solve anything."
Lila nods, knowing Marie is right. She always is.
"You should get some rest," Lila says, standing and smoothing down her wrinkled shirt. "You just woke up from a coma. You need to recover."
"I'm fine," Marie protests, but there are already shadows under her eyes, and Lila can see the exhaustion pulling at her.
Lila leans down and hugs her again, longer this time, memorizing the feeling of Marie's arms around her, the familiar scent of her perfume mixed with hospital antiseptic. "I love you," she whispers. "You know that, right?"
"I love you too, baby girl," Marie says softly. "Now go. And be careful."
Lila straightens, forces a smile, and heads for the door. She doesn't look back—if she had, she might have seen something final in Marie's expression, something that looked almost like goodbye.
Instead, she walks out of the hospital room and out of Marie's life forever, never knowing it would be the last time she'd hear that voice, feel those arms around her, or see the woman who raised her alive.
⚘ ❀ ⚘ ❀ ⚘ ❀ ⚘ ❀ ⚘
Back at the motel, Lila pulls out a new burner phone and dials the number for the Grimm she'd sent after Tommy. It rings once, twice, three times before going to voicemail. She hangs up without leaving a message and tries again. Same result.
A cold knot forms in her stomach. Grimms always answer their phones. Always. It's survival 101.
She spreads her research papers across the bed—police reports, hospital records, everything she'd gathered about Nick and the attack on Marie. If the other Grimm isn't responding, she needs to know what's happening in Portland. She needs to scout Nick's house, see if there are more Reapers in the area, figure out if—
Her phone rings. Unknown number, but when she answers, the voice on the other end is crisp, professional, and completely unfamiliar.
"Delilah Boudreaux."
It's not a question. Lila's blood goes cold. Very few people know her real name, and even fewer would use it like that—like a statement of fact.
"Who is this?"
"Martin Meisner. I believe you know who I am."
She does. Every Grimm worth their salt knows about Meisner and the Resistance. You don't fuck with them. Ever. They have resources, connections, and a reach that spans continents. If Meisner is calling her directly, it's not good news.
"What do you want?" she asks, though part of her already knows.
"The Grimm you were in contact with—the one you sent to New Orleans—has stopped reporting to the organization. As of forty-eight hours ago, he went dark. Since you were his last known contact and the one who sent him on assignment, you're now responsible for him."
Lila closes her eyes, a sick feeling settling in her stomach. She wants to say no. Wants to tell Meisner she's done with New Orleans, done with that whole fucked-up mess. But you don't say no to the Resistance. Not if you want to keep breathing.
"I understand," she says finally.
"Good. You'll return to New Orleans and determine his status. If he's alive, bring him home. If he's not..." Meisner's voice turns colder. "Find out who killed him and handle it accordingly."
"And if I refuse?"
There's a pause, and when Meisner speaks again, his tone is absolutely arctic. "You won't."
Lila knows a threat when she hears one. "How do I contact you?"
"You don't. I'll contact you. And Boudreaux? Don't disappoint me."
The line goes dead, leaving Lila staring at her phone and trying not to think about how royally fucked she is.