A good word
The moment Michael set foot outside the Realm, he slammed the door behind him enough to shake the frame and half the Tower behind it. In one fist was the glittering silver key that gave him entrance and exit to the family home, and in the other, the crumpled remains of the note his brothers had sent him.
The Bastard was dead, gone, whatever the fuck they wanted to call it, but at what cost? Cerridwen, his beautiful Cerridwen… He knew what she was capable of. He had seen some, heard spoken of others. But the Bastard… 'Incommunicado', 'not unscathed', words hiding hurt. She was hurt! The Bastard had hurt her!
And he couldn't…
Fuck it!
For a moment, he stood in the middle of the shithole he called an apartment and rubbed his face with his hands.
No.
No, this time he wasn't going to whine and cry, bemoan how pathetic he was and piss away his life in his own misery. He couldn't help her. He never could. He was fucking useless in her world. But her world wasn't the only one.
And he had his own demons to kill.
She would be well. She would come back to him. She had to. Please god, she had to. But in the meantime…
He yanked a drawer out of his dresser, dug out his knife and shoved it into his boot. Pulled out his gun, checked and clipped it, grabbing a couple of spares, before shoving it into the back of his jeans.
"Michael?"
He jumped a little, looking up to see Knight standing in the doorway, a look of concern on that perfectly designed face of his. Michael didn't answer immediately, slamming the dresser drawer closed. He needed to hit somebody or something, and he had the perfect victim in mind.
"What happened?" Knight's eyes were following him as he moved around the room gathering his stuff; probably scanning him with those damn invasive sensors of his.
"Do you have a location on Merritt?" Sharp, clipped and unforgiving.
"Yes." Knight frowned.
Even more so when Michael pushed past him and out the door. "Good. I need to borrow the car."
He smiled a little cruelly as he strode down the hallway and Knight hurried to catch up behind him.
Mike was right after all. Fuck was a fucking good word.
And fuck it all.
The Bastard was dead, gone, whatever the fuck they wanted to call it, but at what cost? Cerridwen, his beautiful Cerridwen… He knew what she was capable of. He had seen some, heard spoken of others. But the Bastard… 'Incommunicado', 'not unscathed', words hiding hurt. She was hurt! The Bastard had hurt her!
And he couldn't…
Fuck it!
For a moment, he stood in the middle of the shithole he called an apartment and rubbed his face with his hands.
No.
No, this time he wasn't going to whine and cry, bemoan how pathetic he was and piss away his life in his own misery. He couldn't help her. He never could. He was fucking useless in her world. But her world wasn't the only one.
And he had his own demons to kill.
She would be well. She would come back to him. She had to. Please god, she had to. But in the meantime…
He yanked a drawer out of his dresser, dug out his knife and shoved it into his boot. Pulled out his gun, checked and clipped it, grabbing a couple of spares, before shoving it into the back of his jeans.
"Michael?"
He jumped a little, looking up to see Knight standing in the doorway, a look of concern on that perfectly designed face of his. Michael didn't answer immediately, slamming the dresser drawer closed. He needed to hit somebody or something, and he had the perfect victim in mind.
"What happened?" Knight's eyes were following him as he moved around the room gathering his stuff; probably scanning him with those damn invasive sensors of his.
"Do you have a location on Merritt?" Sharp, clipped and unforgiving.
"Yes." Knight frowned.
Even more so when Michael pushed past him and out the door. "Good. I need to borrow the car."
He smiled a little cruelly as he strode down the hallway and Knight hurried to catch up behind him.
Mike was right after all. Fuck was a fucking good word.
And fuck it all.