Chapter 15 Wine-Drunk/70K Q and A

Lena stirs awake to the dull, throbbing drumbeat of a hangover pounding at the base of her skull. Bleary eyes blink open, and her entire body is awash in a soft, pulsing blue aura as her chronal accelerator's rewind ability sluggishly kicks in. She can feel the lingering effects of the alcohol being slowly reversed - her taxed liver resetting, her weary cells regenerating one by one until the insidious hangover slowly, mercifully dissipates.

Propping herself up on one elbow, Lena squints against the dim lighting as she takes stock of her surroundings. The living room is cloaked in darkness, silent save for the ambient ticking of a clock and her own ragged breathing. A quiet sigh escapes her lips as she forces herself into an upright seated position on the couch, nose wrinkling at the faint but unmistakable scent of stale wine still clinging to the fabric of her rumpled black shirt. A low groan rumbles in her throat - she'll have to thoroughly clean it later.

Pushing herself to her feet with effort, Lena trudges down the hallway, one hand trailing along the wall to steady herself in the pitch blackness. She pauses in the doorway to her bedroom, eyes narrowing as they slowly adjust, scanning the room's interior with building trepidation. Her gaze snags on the thrown over chair, a dark puddle of spilled wine fanning out beneath its legs on the hardwood floor. An empty bottle lays discarded atop her dresser, its presence feeling almost accusatory.

Lena racks her mind, brow furrowing as she struggles to recall the events of the previous night. Flashes of memory flicker through her mind.

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Brian's Point Of View

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Brian's throat tightens, each breath coming out in shaky, pained gasps. Slowly, he raises his palm to his neck, eyes widening as crimson liquid coats his skin. He watches in almost detached fascination as his shirt darkens to a deep red, the liquid spreading further across the fabric. A dull, distant pain shoots through his system.

His gaze darts upward, eyes wide and fearful. The last of the air in his lungs threatens to leave him faint. He looks to blue skin - the hand that knocked him to the ground still outstretched. Following the tense limb upward, his eyes focus on a face he's seen in nightmares before. Poised. Golden eyes fixed on him, staring with the intense focus of a predator.

From the corner of his eye, he registers Lena placing herself between him and the one who hurt him. Fragmented memories of the museum incident come swirling back to him. Adrenaline courses through his body, tensing his muscles as he scampers from the room. He runs out the door, crossing into the apartment.

A pair of arms wrap around him, holding him close against a source of warmth that hushes him with quiet, sweet tones. Brian's senses slowly return as a set of kind eyes behind thick-rimmed black glasses focus on him. "It will be alright," a thick Swiss accent soothes, putting him at ease despite the panic still thrumming beneath his skin.

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Awaken

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The pungent aroma of garlic hangs in the air, intermingling with the soothing scent of freshly baked bread. Brian's fingers interlock with the smooth coolness of another hand, the leather surrounding their skin a comforting texture. A calming light blue hue envelops his periphery as smooth jazz plays faintly. Something golden catches his eye, reflecting light. The sugary smell of cotton candy blends with the softness of fabric against his skin. Flashing lights dance across his vision. Intricately carved wooden doors, the rich chocolate color drawing his gaze. Granite countertops, cool and polished. A soft pillow beckons.

These fragments of memory pour over Brian, his hand reaching up to wipe the slick cold sweat from his brow. His mouth feels packed with cotton, throat so dry that even breathing sends needles prodding at his tonsils. His eyes struggle to open, fluttering briefly before the warm ambient light forces them closed again, a sharp pain lancing through. Turning onto his side, his nose burrows into a soft, squishy material as his eyes attempt to open once more. He catches a glimpse of pink and white, alarm bells firing through his head, propelling him into an upright seated position. His weary bones and body scream in protest, but he is now sitting, the bedcovers wrinkled around him.

Placing a hand over his eyes, he allows a sliver of an opening between his fingers to survey his surroundings. A massive poster depicting some lizard-like creature and alien beings adorns the wall. Shelves upon shelves overflow with anime figurines and memorabilia. Wiping his forehead, an odd blue material grazes his face. He pulls his hand away, inspecting the dyed blue leather sleeve enveloping his arm. With effort, he shrugs off the unfamiliar blue bomber jacket, letting it pool in his lap as he studies the intricate hand-stitched inner lining. A small white cloth tag woven near the collar catches his eye – "For John."

The shuffling sound of someone nearby causes Brian to whip around, jacket falling to the bed as he moves backwards, propping himself up to face the door. It opens, revealing a young woman wearing a white face mask and black sunglasses. Catching sight of him, she lowers her hood and slowly removes the sunglasses. Brian's heart rate slows as he recognizes her. "Hana?"

A thump against his chest draws his gaze downward, where a pre-wrapped peanut butter and jelly sandwich now rests. "Eat that. And don't you dare throw up in here," Hana states, her tone carrying a hint of irritation. Brian's eyes dart between the bed and his own body. His pants are still buttoned, but his shirt has been swapped for a grey long sleeve adorned with a small cartoon cat character.

"Di-did we?" He stutters out, heat rising to his cheeks.

Hana's hands move to her hips as she shakes her head vehemently. "N-No! Of course not! Y-you don't remember anything?"

Brian blinks slowly as fragments seem to trickle back. His gaze falls to the jacket, "No. I...I remember sitting down to have dinner the-"

Hana trudges over, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. "Yeah, you went to Lena and Angela's, and then you called me. Asking me to come get you."

Raising his hand, Brian stares at it with a confused expression that tells Hana his memory has fragmented gaps. "I-I'm sorry for the trouble. I can leave."

As he rises unsteadily to his feet and moves toward the door, a firm hand grips the back of his shirt collar, pulling him back with surprising strength for Hana's petite frame. He lands on the bed once more, and Hana leans over him, her brown eyes meeting his as a fearful, almost dangerous look flashes across his face. She removes her hand, folding them primly in her lap as that intense expression fades, replaced by a timid vulnerability.

"You aren't going anywhere." Her tone holds no room for argument. "You need to drink water or eat something. It's a long drive, and I don't want you getting sick."

Recognizing the shift in his demeanor, Brian lets out an awkward chuckle. "That's probably a good idea. Do you have any water?"

Hana turns back to face him, a forced smile not quite reaching his eyes as he regards her. Reaching into the convenience store bag beside her, she pulls out a bottle of water, movements unhurried. "Here."

Brian murmurs a quiet "thanks" as he accepts the bottle from her outstretched hand. He twists off the cap slowly, raising it to his lips and taking a long, deliberate pull. The cool liquid soothes his parched throat, but Hana's hand comes to rest lightly on his arm before he can drain it completely, cautioning him. "Easy, take it slow."

Lowering the bottle, Brian nods compliantly, a sheepish look settling onto his features. An awkward silence stretches between them, the quiet punctuated only by the ambient noises filtering in from outside Hana's cluttered bedroom. Brian's eyes roam unhurriedly over the shelves packed tightly with figurines and merchandise, taking in the intricate details and vibrant colors one by one. So many curious items surrounding them, yet his mind remains stubbornly blank as to how he ended up here in such a disheveled state.

"I-" He starts after a moment, turning his gaze back to Hana, but the words seem to catch in his throat. Her expression is a mix of concern and something he can't quite read. Pursing her lips slightly, she appears to be debating internally whether to speak up first.

The stretch of silence draws out further before Hana finally exhales a long sigh, the sound wavering slightly. "You really don't remember anything after dinner?" Her tone is gentle, patient.

Brian shakes his head slowly from side to side. "Just...fragments. Flashes of images and sensations." His brow furrows as he tries to concentrate, to pull the fragmented memories into something coherent. He closes his eyes, drawing a slow breath in through his nose, then releases it through pursed lips. "The food...that leather jacket...lights, music..."

Trailing off, he opens his eyes once more to give Hana an apologetic look. She watches him intently but remains quiet, allowing him to continue probing his recollections at his own measured pace.

Her lips press together in a tight line as something like apprehension flickers across her eyes. But she quickly schools her expression into a careful neutral look, holding Brian's inquisitive stare. "You were pretty out of it when I picked you up from Lena and Angela's. You were in the lobby and rambling about something involving a cowboy?"

The name sparks a faint recognition in Brian's muddled mind. he knew exactly what she was talking about.

Hana seems to read the confusion writ plain across his face. Her next words come out slow and measured. "I brought you here to sleep it off after you got...emotional. And maybe a little frustrated. When I had to change your shirt." Her gaze drifts away briefly, lips pursing once more before she continues. "I didn't know what else to do. It was covered with some type of wine."

Brian's stomach churns with a mix of shame and concern over what he may have said or done while under the influence. He sets the bottle of water down on the nightstand with deliberate movements, then meets Hana's eyes once more. "Hana...I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to cause you any trouble. Thank you for taking care of me." His voice is thick with contrition and hangs heavy in the air between them.

She holds his gaze for a long moment before her own eyes soften somewhat. "I know," Hana replies at last with a small nod. "Just...get some rest, okay? We can talk more later if you want." Offering him a small, reassuring smile, she rises from the bed and slips out of the room in unhurried movements, leaving Brian alone with his swirling thoughts.

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Hana's Point Of View

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Brian stepped out of Hana's room, entering the spacious living room where Lena had set up her streaming equipment. Hana's eyes seemed transfixed on some TV program playing on the large screen. He moved over to the wastebin with unhurried steps, depositing the empty water bottle and crumpled bag that had contained his peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Turning, he made his way to the couch and took a seat, leaving a cushion of space between himself and Hana. His hands came to rest on his knees as he settled into the plush cushions. Though Hana's gaze remained fixated on the TV before them, she caught him watching her through her peripheral vision. The corners of his mouth twitched slightly, rising and falling as if he meant to speak, but no words seemed to form.

The weighted silence stretched out until Hana finally broke it. "I'm sorry for peeking," she said, tearing her eyes away from the TV to look at him directly.

Brian turned his head towards her, regarding her apology for a moment before giving a small shake of his head. "No, you were just trying to help. Don't worry about it...you really did help me." One of his hands slowly clenched into a loose fist that bobbed idly on his knee. He drew in a deep breath, then exhaled slowly through pursed lips before continuing. "I just...this hasn't happened before. And I'm just...shaken."

His gaze dropped to the floor, studying the patterns in the rug for a beat. When he looked up again, his eyes found Hana's. She had shifted on the couch, angling her body more fully towards him rather than facing forward.

"But can we just pretend you didn't see any of that?" The question hung in the air between them, heavy with unspoken meaning.

Memories flickered through Hana's mind of the faded scars she had glimpsed – the long line marring the skin from Brian's left pectoral down to his right side, the small burn in the shape of a cartoon bone just below his ribcage. She held his entreating gaze for a long moment before giving a slight nod.

"You know I don't care about all that, right?" She leaned over, delivering a light punch to his shoulder to punctuate her nonchalance. The action pulled a chuckle from Brian's throat, one that seemed to bubble up authentically rather than forced. Hana felt heat blossom across her cheeks at the sound. "I have a scar or two myself, you aren't special, loser."

Turning her eyes towards the windows, Hana watched the dark city skyline twinkling with glazes of neon light from the buildings. She could see Brian's reflection in the glass, hunched on the couch beside her.

"So..." she began, drawing the word out slightly. "Your memory coming back at all?"

Brian pursed his lips, seeming to mull over her query for a weighty pause before giving a quick shake of his head. "Not really. I remember going over to help Angela with making dinner. Then we made pasta and sat down. I remember Amelie was there."

Hana's eyes widened, her head swiveling back towards Brian in surprise. "You've met Amelie?!"

He met her incredulous stare with a nod. "Uh yeah, we kind of...ran into each other. At the ballet she put on, Coppelia? Have you seen it?"

She responded by punching his shoulder again, perhaps with a bit more force this time as incredulity morphed into indignation. "I was there! I even had to sit next to a stuffy old dude in a tux."

A laugh escaped Brian's lips, rumbling up from his belly. He leaned back against the couch cushions, shooting Hana a smug look. "Wouldn't know what that's like. I had a box."

"This is bullshit," Hana huffed, crossing her arms as she planted herself more firmly on the couch cushions. After allowing a petulant silence to linger in the air, she continued. "But yeah, I mean we met, got into an argument, and then she gave me private dance lessons."

Pausing, she turned back towards Brian, eyes twinkling with mischief as a smile formed on her lips. "You're running around with half the girls in town, you whore."

Brian's eyes flew wide, choking on his own saliva at her teasing accusation. He coughed, waving a hand in front of his face as he tried to catch his breath. "I am not! I keep running into people by accident and then usually something happens and we talk for a bit and that's it."

"Slut," Hana taunted cheekily, clearly relishing getting such a flustered rise out of him.

One eyebrow arched upwards as Brian slowly shook his head, but the hint of a smile played at the corners of his mouth. He cleared his throat before continuing. "But yeah, I was grocery shopping earlier today and then I ran into her at the store. And we hung out for a bit, then I had to go meet with Angela and Lena because of plans. And then Amelie showed up, and we sat down to eat..." He trailed off, gaze growing distant as he recalled the fragmented scene. "That's pretty much the last thing I remember."

Hana held his faraway stare, watching as he seemed to retreat into his muddled memories. "So Amelie showed up at Lena and Angela's place?" She let the question hang in the air for a weighted beat before adding, "That sounds like it would be awkward."

"It kind of was?" Brian replied, rubbing slowly at his chin as if deep in thought. "I mean, I don't really remember much of it clearly. I just remember feeling really uncomfortable. But that might have been because of Angela."

Hana's brow furrowed slightly at that admission, a crease forming between her brows. Brian seemed to pick up on the nonverbal cue, quickly giving a small shake of his head. "I don't have anything against her, really. It's just sometimes she kind of gets a bit too...close."

With a soft exhalation, Hana gave a slight nod, features relaxing once more. "I get it. I'm sure she doesn't mean to cause any problems, though. She's really nice."

Brian let his head loll over, coming to rest in the cradle of his palm propped up on the armrest. "I've heard a lot of stuff from Lena about her," he mused in a low tone. "And I should be thankful to her for the biotic tech. But whenever I'm around her, she just gets...off."

His gaze flicked up, meeting Hana's pensive stare head-on.

"I haven't really spoken with her much recently, to be honest," Hana admitted after allowing a weighty pause to linger between them. "At least not since the war ended. But she really is a kind person – she really took care of me and Lena." A fond smile played across her lips as memories seemed to flicker through her mind's eye. "Hell, we even called her 'mom' behind her back a lot of the time, since she really was like a mother bird."

The smile faltered slightly as she continued. "Once, when me and Lena got on this Minecraft binge during our off time, she had Reinhardt drag the two of us out of our quarters because we were living off lemon flavored Oreos for at least two days."

Hana saw the way Brian tensed at the mention of Reinhardt's name, his eyes darting guiltily away as his lips pressed into a tight line. She cleared her throat softly, allowing the awkward moment to dissipate before refocusing her attention.

"She took care of us," Hana stated, tone becoming more serious as she held Brian's gaze steadily. "So, if you do anything weird to her, I'm going to kick your ass, you get me boyo?"

After a weighty beat, Brian gave a solemn nod of acknowledgment. "Yeah, I gotcha." His fingers toyed idly with the cuff of the blue bomber jacket he wore. "Also...uh, do you want your jacket back?" He began to shrug it off his shoulders.

"That's not my jacket," Hana replied, her head tilting slightly as she studied the garment. "I thought it was yours? It isn't mine."

Brian stilled his movements, leaving the jacket on as his brow furrowed in confusion. "I thought you put it on me after I changed?"

Shaking her head slowly, Hana clarified, "Nope. You had that on when I picked you up." Her gaze dropped to the grey long sleeve emblazoned with a Hello Kitty graphic that Brian wore. Reaching out, she gave the shirt a light poke. "The shirt is mine, though. You're kinda lanky."

Brian scowled melodramatically at her teasing jab about his slender frame. "This is slander," he retorted, unable to fully commit to feigning offense as a slight smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"Whatever you say, beanpole," Hana shot back with a chuckle, pushing herself up off the couch. She moved towards the kitchen area, calling back over her shoulder. "You want something to eat? I can heat up some leftovers."

Settling back into the plush cushions, Brian considered her offer for a moment before giving a nod. "Yeah, that would be great, thank you."

As Hana rummaged through the fridge, Brian's gaze roamed idly around the living room. His eyes landed on the streaming setup with its array of cameras, lighting rigs, and microphones surrounding Hana's usual spot. Curiosity gnawed at him.

"So, you haven't been streaming much recently" he asked, pitching his voice to carry to the kitchen area.

"yeah." Hana confirmed, her reply slightly muffled. "I've been feeling a bit burnt out recently. I hit a new high on the leaderboards so I can't really play for fun against people unless I'm tryharding."

Brian let out a soft huff, somewhere between a chuckle and a sigh. "Of course. Should've known miss top of the leaderboard would need a break at some point"

"it's probably not as tiring as dancing, Mr. Ballet Lessons," Hana shot back in a teasing lilt as she reemerged holding two plates laden with food.

Flushing slightly at her jibe, Brian waved a hand dismissively. "That was just a one-time thing. Besides, I was probably floundering around like a baby gazelle."

"Uh huh, sure," Hana drawled, handing him one of the plates before retaking her seat on the couch, careful to leave a courteous distance. "I bet Amelie just loved that deer-in-headlights look on you."

Brian opened his mouth to protest, then seemed to think better of it as he took in the mischievous glint in Hana's eyes. With a slight shake of his head, he opted to change the subject instead.

"So did I say anything weird when you, uh...picked me up earlier?" he asked, a hint of trepidation coloring his tone as he began picking at the food on his plate.

Hana was quiet for a beat, considering. "Some stuff about video games you mentioned something about Ludwig being an idiot."

Relief washed over Brian's features before curiosity won out. "Anything...else?"

Pausing to take a bite of her food, Hana chewed slowly and deliberately as she decided how to respond. After swallowing, she met Brian's questioning look steadily.

"Just some drunken rambling about VR stuff" she said, keeping her tone neutral and observing him carefully. "You said that I was short."

Brian's face fell, shoulders slumping as he averted his eyes. "Sorry."

"Don't worry about it," she replied with a casual wave of her hand, as if brushing his apology aside. "We all have our moments of drunken idiocy, right? I'm just glad I was there to keep you from doing anything too stupid."

Offering him a small, reassuring smile, Hana turned her attention back to her plate. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched the tension visibly seep out of Brian's posture. He matched her casual air with a nod and a quiet "thanks" before digging into his food as well.

"Brian?"

"Yeah?"

"Call me short again. And ill kill you."

"okay."

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Amelie's Point Of View, The Dinner

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The soft clink of a fingertip lazily tracing the crystal rim of a wine flute cuts through the tense silence. Amelie's pale finger rhythmically taps against the glass in a meandering pattern, causing the deep purple liquid within to ripple outward in small, concentric cascades. She watches, seemingly entranced, as each languid tap sends a new series of rings spreading across the surface.

Her other hand rests heavily against the side of her face, nails scratching lightly, absently at her scalp. Pinkie and ring finger are stretched taut across the bridge of her nose as unblinking golden eyes fix their penetrating stare on the back of a chestnut brown head. The former pilot seems utterly oblivious to the heated, predatory glare burning into them from across the table.

Opposite Amelie, Angela Ziegler sits statuesque, radiating an almost regal poise and dignity. Her wine glass remains full and untouched since the first course was served what feels like an eternity ago. Amelie's eyes drift down, noting the medic's plate has been picked at in a scarce manner, but otherwise remains largely uneaten, the meal growing cold. For what reason, Amelie cannot discern. A finely arched eyebrow shifts almost imperceptibly as her unrelenting scrutiny meets Angela's eyes, silently demanding an explanation for this apparent lack of appetite.

Slowly, with controlled deliberation, Amelie's gaze trails down to study her own plate. Handed to her earlier by a flustered, red-faced Lena insisting she eat with that nervous, attitude. The pasta sits now in a state of growing suspicion, each minute that ticks by allowing the gnawing sense that some mistake has been made to nibble away at the edges of her hyper-attuned awareness. Dark instincts, honed and sharpened over years of life-or-death scrutiny, begin picking apart every detail of the scene before her.

"Amelie?"

Her attention shifts at the sound of her name. Golden eyes meet blue ones that seem to swirl and glow in the soft light. All eyes in the room are pulled almost magnetically to the French woman as the young boy's voice calls to her from the end of the small table. Chocolate brown eyes, pupils dilated for some unknown cause, stare deeply into hers, wishing to drink up every detail of her familiar visage. An uncomfortable flush washes over the older woman.

"Are you okay?" Brian's concerned query hangs in the air. Amelie nods, shifting in her seat.

"Yes. Just a bit tired," she murmurs, unconsciously raising the wine glass once more to take a sip of the sickly sweet liquid that makes her feel more and more disoriented with every lingering drop poured down her throat.

Lena turns away abruptly, not wanting to let her gaze rest on the woman any further. From the moment of their arrival at this impromptu reunion, Amelie has noticed the British woman's palpable flightiness, her unease growing more and more frustrating as the evening wears on. She had expected anger, rebuke, even hurt from Lena after the events at the dance - but not this charged silence, this refusal to acknowledge her presence.

She had invited Lena and Angela, had waited with bated breath to set eyes on her former lover during the performance or after. Only receiving a terse text from Angela afterward that they had enjoyed it as a group. Amelie remembers the scowl that twisted her features as the selfish thought cut through her mind - "She could have told me herself."

Her attention refocuses on the immediate moment, watching as Lena steals furtive glances her way. Golden eyes meet blue in a heated stare, and Brian seems to realize some mistake, quickly trying to divert attention away from Amelie with a hasty mention of something damning.

"I baked something today."

The words seem to hang heavily in the air between them all. Amelie feels a leaden knot of unease twist sickeningly in the pit of her stomach at Brian's deceptively innocuous mention. She watches, feeling almost detached, as Lena and Angela's attention immediately shifts to the young man seated at the end of the table.

"Oh?" Angela's gentle lilt breaks the tense silence, a warm smile slowly blooming across her lips. "What's the occasion?"

Brian returns the smile, though his eyes are heavy-lidded and glazed, hand idly fidgeting with the rounded base of his wineglass. The same glass that never seems to stay empty for long, as Angela vigilantly leans over to top it off with a fresh pour whenever his sips cease for more than a few lingering moments.

"I helped a friend make them," he explains, words slightly slurred as the alcohol clearly takes its toll. A wrinkle forms between his brows as he considers his next words carefully. "I don't really like cookies that much, but...I ran into them at the store and, well..." He trails off with a vague shrug of his shoulders. "You know how it goes. We made some cookies."

His plate lays bare, the helpings of food long since cleared away as the conversation slowly, inevitably, devolved into this hazy, looping cycle of drinking and storytelling. Lena recounts some humorous anecdote from earlier with animated gestures, only for Angela to chime in with an embarrassing or cringeworthy retort - some antidote rooted in the pilot's antics under her watchful care and friendship.

"It was not like that!" Lena's indignant protest cuts through the laughter and banter, a flat palm slamming against the table with emphasis. Her face is flushed, tendrils of chestnut hair escaping the confines of her once tidy ponytail to frame her features in wisps.

Angela, ever unruffled, levels Lena with a look brimming with fond exasperation. "You attempted to help someone remove a magnetic boot from their car," she recounts evenly, "and it attached itself to your chronal accelerator. Winston had to disassemble the entire boot that had attached to you like a backpack."

A small, involuntary giggle escapes Brian at the absurd visual Angela's words conjure - only earning him a withering look from Lena across the table. "Bullshit!" she cries out hotly.

"Lena!" Angela's voice takes on a distinctly scolding tone, though the corners of her eyes crinkle with barely contained amusement. "It attached to me because Brigitte wanted to tinker with the magnet stuff. She accidentally activated it, and then placed it on my back. I didn't do anything. And it was Brigitte's idea in the first place - I didn't even know the person whose car that boot belonged to."

Lena fumes silently, slumping back in her chair with arms crossed tightly over her chest in a subdued pout, refusing to meet anyone's gaze. Brian, for his part, simply watches the heated exchange unfold with wide, glassy eyes - the mounting effects of the alcohol rendering his expression in a permanent state of tired half-closure.

The silence stretches for a beat too long before Lena speaks again, her voice low and laced with an unmistakable edge.

"And don't think I've forgotten about the time you spent two hours trying to cook a casserole for some Thanksgiving thing. But it was a gas stove, so you ended up just dropping the whole bloody mess and covering my brand new shoes in milk and macaroni noodles!"

An accusatory finger jabs toward Angela, who blinks rapidly as if awaking from a trance. Her eyes go wide with indignation at the unexpected slight against her culinary skills.

"Lena, you shouldn't make up stories about people!" Her tone is one of barely-checked offense.

"Like hell I am making it up!" Lena fires back without missing a beat. "I still have photos of the whole disaster!"

With a clumsy sweep of her arm, Lena makes a grab for her phone resting on the table's surface - but Angela is quicker, trying to swipe the device away before those damning photographic receipts can be brandished. A flick of Lena's wrist triggers her accelerator, rewinding the phone through the ether with a soft blue glow until it rematerializes in her grasp, openly taunting the fuming Swiss woman seated across from her.

"Don't you dare," Angela hisses, the words dripping with a surprising undercurrent of silent, smoldering malice - one that seems to go completely unnoticed by Lena, who is already busying herself with swiping through old photographed memories on her device.

Brian inhales deeply, his words slurring slightly as he speaks. "Do you all mind if I use the restroom?"

He rises unsteadily from his seat, facing towards Amelie. His eyes linger on her for a moment too long before shifting to Lena, then back again with a subtlety that makes something in Amelie's stomach stir uncomfortably.

Angela reaches out, her thumb rubbing small, soothing circles into the boy's shoulder as he sways precariously. "Sure, I'll show you where it is," Lena offers, using the table as leverage to push herself up. Her palms press flat against the surface to steady herself.

Amelie's gaze follows the two as they disappear down the hallway, watching them go with a furrowed brow. Once they're out of sight, she turns back to Angela, who has retaken her seat and is sipping from a glass of water that Amelie eyes with scrutinizing focus.

"So why are we having dinner?" The question hangs heavy between them.

Angela's gaze remains fixed on the entrance to the hallway as she speaks. "I wanted to have a simple reunion of sorts. I offered Brian some chocolates and he insisted we have dinner. And who am I to say no? He's been so kind." A pause as she purses her lips. "He told me you two interacted at the dance, and I figured it has been so long since we all had a simple meal together. Why not reunite?"

Amelie retakes her own seat, staring down the medic with narrowed eyes. "Connerie," she mutters, her patience wearing thin.

Angela's brow furrows at the blatant disbelief. "He can keep things to himself, that much I'm sure."

Amelie notices the way Angela's fingers begin tapping out a restless rhythm against the tabletop. "I don't know what you expect me to say," Angela continues evenly. "He mentioned you, and I figured since you two had spent some time together, it would be nice to have you both come around."

"How coincidental," Amelie clips out, unable to keep the sarcasm from her tone, "that you, knowing about our...history, would invite both him and me to have dinner with Lena."

Angela sighs, raising her hands in a placating gesture. "I believe you are being much too aggressive, Amelie. I simply wish for my friends to get along and for there to be no bad blood or problems."

Her eyes seem to subtly shift then, hardening into a new, steely demeanor. "Lena believed that you and Brian obviously had some involvement with one another. And obviously, that isn't the case."

Angela raises her glass, swirling the deep purple liquid contemplatively before taking another measured sip. "Perhaps you should remind yourself that you and Lena did have a falling out. And it was your decision."

The poisonous words echo hollowly in Amelie's mind. "Your decision."

Angela lets the slightest undercurrent of malice slip into her next words. "Maybe it was for the best, after all. Lena was in a...complicated predicament, and you were there to.. 'take' those feelings."

Amelie tenses at the loaded insinuation behind the statement. "I do appreciate you, Amelie," Angela continues in a carefully measured tone. "Brian seems to treat you without any malice. I certainly would have...conflicted feelings if we had a shared history like that."

She takes another pointed sip of her champagne, raising her hand as if just realizing something. "My, they are taking their time, aren't they?"

The suspicion bubbling over, Amelie rises from her seat, body growing warmer as the wine takes further hold. She trudges down the hallway, ears picking up faint movement from behind a white door. Pushing it open, her eyes fall upon Lena, taking a long pull from a dark green bottle before sloshing it around, the liquid within audibly agitated.

A quiet shuffling draws her attention, and she spots Brian seated in a white chair, hands clutching a piece of white paper as his eyes dart up at her abrupt entrance. He drops the paper in fright, and Amelie's hawkish gaze instantly focuses on it, realizing it's a polaroid photograph. An image of her sipping coffee, a red box of cookies on the table before her.

She moves on instinct, muscles tensing as adrenaline spikes. Lena lunges for the fallen picture, but Brian scrambles backwards, upending his bottle and splattering wine across the floor.

Amelie's hand lashes out, the bottom of her palm striking Brian's neck with brutal force. Lena's fingers close around the polaroid as Amelie yanks it back, the paper tearing with an audible rip. Brian clutches at his throat, heaving rapid breaths as an angry red welt blooms across his skin.

Lena's wide brown eyes meet Amelie's blazing golden glare for the briefest of moments before guiltily averting her gaze. Brian slips shakily past them and out into the hallway, leaving a trail of spilled wine droplets in his wake.

++++++++++++++++++

Hana's Point Of View

++++++++++++++++++

Hana's gaze is inexorably drawn across the expansive room once more, eyes settling on Brian's slumbering form on the couch. She watches, unblinking, as his chest rises and falls with each deep, even breath. Watches as his features twitch ever so slightly, brow furrowing in the throes of some fleeting dream before smoothing out once more into a mask of undisturbed sleep.

A few murmured, unintelligible syllables tumble past his lips and he shifts minutely - turning from facing the window to burying his face further into the couch's soft embrace. Hana lets out a slow exhalation, the sound seeming to reverberate loudly in the hushed stillness blanketing the room.

Tearing her eyes away, she takes a sip from the glass of water sitting on her desk, the liquid a shocking jolt of coolness against her dry throat. She savors it for a lingering moment before swallowing, trying her best to remain quiet and unobtrusive as the near-silent whirring of computer fans fills the pregnant pauses.

With forced nonchalance, Hana returns her attention to the glow of her monitor, quickly typing out a cheerful social media post announcing her imminent return to streaming over the next couple days. She copies and pastes an overenthusiastic PNG image of her signature cheering persona before hitting 'enter' with perhaps more force than strictly necessary.

Notifications and emails begin cycling through in a modest deluge, and she releases a Put-upon groan as she methodically works through each one - hitting 'read,' sighing, groaning again. Until her eyes snag on one particular message, freezing her motions.

An text from a personal contact she hasn't heard from in almost a year - not since last December's terse, three-word heads up: "I'm at the door."

Chest constricting ever so slightly, Hana double checks the sender: Amelie Lacroix. She releases the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding and clicks to open the message, jaw clenching as she reads the short but ominous line of text.

"Have you eaten breakfast?"

For several weighted seconds, Hana simply watches the clock on her desktop tick by in a steady cadence. Then, fingers hovering over the keys, she types out a cautious reply.

"Not yet."

The message is marked 'read' almost instantaneously, and a sliver of unease worms its way into Hana's gut as an errant thought crosses her mind. The spiders watching, huh?

Leaning in towards the monitor, she arches one eyebrow as a new message arrives in short order.

"There is a small bakery selling custard tarts nearby."

Amelie supplies the name of the place - a quaint local café and bakery that Hana dutifully looks up on her phone's map app. Only a 15 minute drive, it claims.

Her frown deepens as she fires back, "Why did you text me?"

This response takes longer to arrive. Hana watches as the 'typing' indicator blinks on and lingers...and lingers...flickering sporadically before going dark again. Just as she's resigning herself to being left on read, a new message pops up.

"I want to talk."

With a soft scoff, Hana leans back in her chair, considering her next move carefully. "Can't we just talk over text?" she shoots back.

Another lengthy pause, the typing animation winking in and out of existence in fits and starts. Hana finds herself irritatedly holding her breath without realizing it until, finally, three simple words appear on the screen.

"Talking in person is better."

She lets out the pent-up exhalation in a derisive huff, shaking her head as she glances over towards Brian's unmoving silhouette. Her eyes linger on the side of his neck, obscured by the couch but no less branded into her mind's eye.

Turning back to the monitor with a renewed sense of determination, Hana types quickly.

"I have to take care of something first. Can we meet in an hour?"

She watches that interminable typing indicator blink...blink...blink... holding her breath again as the minutes stretch on. Just when she's about to give up, an emoji arrives in lieu of a text response: a simple thumbs up.

Smothering an exasperated sigh, Hana braces her palms against the surface of her desk and pushes herself to her feet with creaking effort. She moves with measured strides to pluck her keys from atop the desktop before making her way over to the couch.

Hands find purchase on Brian's shoulder as she gently but insistently rouses him from slumber. He startles awake with a jolt, eyes wild for a brief moment before focusing in on her concerned features.

"Easy," Hana soothes, raising a placating hand. "Listen, I have to go run a couple errands." Her gaze drifts to the window as the lie tumbles easily from her lips. "So I'll drop you off, because I'm heading out. Okay?"

Brian regards her through bleary eyes for a suspended moment before giving a slight, groggy nod of acquiescence. Pushing himself up into a seated position, he watches mutely as Hana raises her protective face mask to cover her mouth and nose.

Without another word, she turns on her heel and leads the way out of the apartment, steps heavy and purposeful. Brian follows along behind in silence.

Hana pulls her jacket tighter around herself as she steps out from the mild chill of late morning, ducking beneath the string of large umbrellas shading the outdoor patio area. A smattering of patrons are scattered about, nursing steaming mugs of coffee while scrolling absently through their phones or nibbling on bagels and other fresh-baked delicacies.

Her eyes scan the crowd with a scrutinizing sweep before snagging on a too-familiar figure seated alone at one of the patio tables. Golden eyes meet warm brown in a heated clash of wills for the briefest of moments before Hana plasters on a confident smile, striding over until she's standing over the other woman.

"A coffee date isn't quite what I had in mind for a reunion, ay Frenchie?" She lets the faint lilt of teasing sarcasm bleed into her greeting.

Amelie regards her with an appraising look, features carefully schooled into an expression of polite apathy as she lowers her dainty porcelain cup from her lips. The corners of her mouth tug upwards in a thin, courteous smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes.

"Good morning," she murmurs, the lilt of her accent thick and heavy.

Hana takes the unspoken cue and slides into the empty chair opposite Amelie, picking up the small paper menu to peruse the offerings. "So what's good here? I've never been."

A considering hum slips past Amelie's pursed lips. "The brioche French toast is excellent, even if the maker sources it from an American bakery."

Nodding absently, Hana allows her eyes to roam over the mouthwatering descriptions - fried donut holes, custard-filled crepes, fluffy French toast dripping with syrup and powdered sugar. Her mouth waters at the thought before an errant memory of mottled purple bruises blooming across pale skin flashes through her mind's eye, giving her pause.

"On second thought, I'll tread lightly," she decides with a shake of her head, sitting back in her seat. Her gaze refocuses with renewed intensity on Amelie's shrouded features, hidden behind a pair of stylish sunglasses.

"Alright, listen," Hana begins without preamble, never one to mince words. "Let's break this down. Why the sudden text after ghosting for so long?"

Amelie seems to consider her response carefully, taking another measured sip of her coffee before lowering the cup to the table with a soft clink. "I wanted to speak to someone," she says at last, shifting to cross one shapely leg over the other.

A knowing smirk tugs at the corner of Hana's lips, taking on a mocking edge. "Hey, that's Chloe's job, not mine."

Amelie flinches almost imperceptibly at the barbed retort, spine stiffening. "I did not wish to vent my frustrations," she insists, voice taking on a slightly clipped tone. "I wanted to talk to someone who...understood things."

Hana's sharp gaze scrutinizes the other woman's every minuscule reaction - the tightening of her jaw, the slight flaring of her nostrils, the way her fingers twitch against the surface of the table. A heavy sigh pushes past her lips as she tears her gaze away, scanning the other patrons milling about.

"Okay, listen," she begins again, leaning in with her elbows braced on the table. "Let's get some things off the table right now, because suddenly out of nowhere we're all being pulled back together again. And I'm having to put up with other people's dramas that I just...need to say something."

She pauses, searching Amelie's impassive features for any sign of reaction or protest. Finding none, she presses onward.

"I don't like you," Hana states baldly, letting the harsh words hang heavy between them. "Ever since...he and Angela had to bring you in, I've always thought you were creepy and distant and icy. And I get it, a lot of people have always been like 'she's going through some things, just be nice.'"

A derisive scoff slips past her lips, shoulders rolling in an indifferent shrug. "But it's been a long time since then, and not once have you ever reached out to me. I know Chloe practically had to force you to go to that Christmas party. And I get it - I've vouched for you and asked people if you were okay, because frankly I know what it's like to feel a bit...disconnected."

Hana pauses to catch her breath, searching Amelie's carefully neutral expression for any cracks in the facade as she continues her tirade.

"But it's been a long time, and I wanted to get it out there that, frankly, you're a friend of a friend. So I really don't care either way." She finishes with a huff of finality, sitting back in her chair with arms crossed over her chest.

For a long moment, Amelie doesn't react - doesn't so much as twitch a muscle. Then, almost robotically, she reaches for her coffee and takes a slow, measured sip, as if mulling over how best to respond.

"It is...understandable," she concedes at last, voice soft and liltingly accented. "I've not made much of an effort to reach out. And even before that, you and I were never close."

Her gaze drops to linger contemplatively on her prosthetic arm resting on the tabletop, synthetic fingers flexing slowly.

"Recently, it has occurred to me to make more of an effort to...get out there," Amelie continues, sounding almost uncertain of herself. "I want to help others who saw potential in me. I want to help those who have lost as I have lost. And I want to...atone."

The last word seems to hang heavy between them, loaded with unspoken history and implication. Amelie looks almost startled by her own candidness, golden eyes cutting away in a rare moment of open vulnerability.

Hana regards her stoically for a suspended moment before huffing out a sigh, body seeming to deflate slightly as some of the righteous fire saps out of her. Slouching back in her seat, arms falling limply to her sides, she allows a wry half-smile to tug at the corner of her lips.

"Listen, as messed up as it seems, I really don't care what kind of stuff you did in the past," she says with an indifferent wave of her hand. "I mean, yeah it was bad. But other than Lena, you never really did anything to affect me directly."

Her smile takes on a conspiratorial edge as understanding dawns. "I know that's probably why you called me here specifically - because we were in totally different orbits, you know? So just...don't be all mopey and awkward and distant around me, and we'll be chill. Alright? New leaf or some kind of personal growth b.s., whatever."

The pink swell of her cheeks rises as her grin stretches into a toothy smile. "A little birdie told me you turned out to be a pretty okay person after everything. So let's just let bygones be bygones, yeah?"

Amelie's own expression softens fractionally at the olive branch, tension seeming to bleed from her shoulders as she nods slowly in agreement. "Very well," is all she says, taking another fortifying sip of coffee.

An expectant pause hangs between them before Hana finally breaks it, arching one inquisitive eyebrow. "So you mentioned in a text that you wanted to ask about coppelia?"

Amelie considers her for a moment, setting her cup down deliberately before replying. "I gave Angela the tickets and told her that if she was interested, to attend. She said you and Lena enjoyed the show."

Hana's nose crinkles in confusion, lips pursing in thought. "Huh, I thought Lena scored those tickets, like you were trying to make some kind of apology or something."

But Amelie remains impassive, giving no reaction one way or another.

Leaning forward again, Hana splays her hands flat on the table between them. "She told me Lena got the tickets, and that Angie like...forced me to go. I didn't hate the show or anything, it just wasn't really my vibe, you know?"

Her gaze drifts away momentarily, drawn to the pavement below where a small ant busies itself in hurried trajectories. "Oh, and Brian got a box seat, while I got stuck next to a bunch of old people that smelled like ointment and mentholatum"

Hana watches curiously as Amelie tilts her head a fraction to the side, processing the new information.

"Ah, so you two have spoken to one another," the former Talon operative states, more than asks. There's an inscrutable lilt to her tone that Hana can't quite parse.

Waving a dismissive hand, Hana lets out a short bark of laughter. "Yeah, I thought at first he was just trying to sleep with Lena or be some kind of clout chaser."

Amelie scoffs softly at that, the faintest hint of an amused smirk playing across her lips. "I can guarantee he isn't a 'clout chaser'," she assures.

"I know, I know," Hana backtracks quickly. "I interrogated him already."

Now it's Amelie's turn to arch an inquisitive brow, golden eyes glinting with a hint of reproach behind her tinted lenses. "Interrogated? How so, exactly?"

 "Oh, you know..." She trails off evasively before surrendering with a sigh. "I kinda ordered pizza and he showed up and then I invited him inside and through some.. underhanded means I managed to siphon some info. Don't get all weird about it."

Amelie blinks once, slowly, seeming to process that admission before turning her attention elsewhere with a indelicate cough. "I did not expect you to be the type to try that sort of thing."

"Not like that! It was just a friendly chat! No waterboarding or anything crazy," Hana shoots back defensively, blush deepening.

An awkward silence lapses between them as she takes a moment to compose herself, fidgeting absently with the sleeve of her jacket. When she speaks again, her voice is smaller, more contemplative.

"I don't know what's up with him, really. He seems like a paradox." She worries her lower lip between her teeth as she carefully considers her next words. "He's nice, but almost...too nice? Like, something's up with him. He's super friendly, but keeps randomly running into people and then somehow winning them over. It's like he's awkward, but there's this weird charisma there too."

Amelie's head bobs in a slow, considering nod. "He is an interesting young man," she concedes. "But perhaps he simply wishes to live without much drama or anger in his life. Having no enemies guarantees a peaceful, quiet existence."

"I don't know..." Hana's brow furrows as she voices her doubts. "He's really young, sure. But he feels older than his age somehow. I don't want to sound weird, but it's almost like - like if he aged faster than his body did, you know?"

A weighted pause lapses between them. Amelie takes a contemplative sip of her now lukewarm coffee, seeming to mull over Hana's observations as memories of Brian's own explanation for his scars flit through her mind's eye.

Finally, she sets her cup down with a decisive clink, leaning back in her seat as she fixes Hana with an inscrutable look. "Perhaps there is more to young Mister Wiser than meets the eye," is all she offers by way of response.

Hana's mouth twists in a wry smirk, giving a slight shrug of acceptance. "Maybe. Or maybe I'm just reading too much into it." Her grin stretches wider, all teeth. "So, You gave him dance lessons huh? Couldn't wait to get your hands on him?"

Amelie scoffs softly, the sound almost derisive. "He didn't know how to dance. I simply gave him some instruction." Her tone carries a note of finality, as if dismissing the matter entirely. "It was nothing more than that."

But Hana's sharp gaze remains fixed on a small bird that's landed nearby, pointedly avoiding meeting Amelie's eyes. "So..." she prompts after a weighted pause. "What happened yesterday?"

"We had dinner." Amelie's clipped response is devoid of any further detail or context.

Undeterred, Hana presses on. "Yeah, I know that. I had to pick him up after he drunk stumbled down to the lobby." Her brows knit together as the implications start coalescing. "He called you?"

She waves a hand in a halfhearted gesture of dismissal. "Well, yeah. He called me, and I came to get him since I don't really know him that well." Hana tears her eyes away from the forgotten menu, pinning Amelie with an inscrutable look. "But he called me specifically to pick him up. There has to be a good reason for that, right?"

Amelie seems to consider this for a moment, posture stiffening almost imperceptibly as she searches for a plausible explanation. Hana notices the way the other woman's dark lenses slip down the bridge of her nose - a telling sign she's not maintaining her usual hyper-awareness.

"Hey, Amelie?" The words cut through the tense silence like a blade.

A distracted hum is the only response Amelie offers, clearly preoccupied with her own inner contemplations.

Hana's piercing stare intensifies, jaw setting in grim determination. "So what really happened?"

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

THE 70 THOUSAND READER SPECIAL/ ASK QUESTIONS TIME

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Hello, everyone! It's me, the author, and I'm making this announcement because we recently hit 70,000 readers on our story, making this my most popular work by at least 40,000 viewers. To celebrate, I want to host a Q&A where you all can ask questions about the work, the characters, and me. I'll do my best to answer your questions regarding the lore, some mysteries, and other things without giving away too much of the plot!

Also, I don't want to waste too much of your time, but I recently had a revelation regarding the work.

First off, I originally planned this work to be around 100 chapters, but the rate at which we are going is moving quickly. Realistically, we should be at the end of the work at about chapter 50-60. Given that we are barely at chapter 15, it's likely that by this January the book should be finished. By that time, plotlines will be concluded, dramas will happen, and horrible events and conspiracies should all be finished. Whatever is going on with Reinhardt and 76 should come to a close by chapter 20 or, at the latest, chapter 25 since chapter 20 will be the end of Act 1.

Now, because this is the 70k special, I want to announce that I will start taking writing commissions. I can be reached for inquiries if you want your story idea written out. Shoot me an email at Jackinthebox6262@gmail.com.

I also have a patreon! patreon.com/Ravio_The_Thief

Drop a comment below or send me an email if you have any questions or commissions, and I will post a reply to the questions in the next chapter! Bye!